


Paintbrushes and Sewing Needles

by The Wicked Symphony (SymphonyWizard)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Chef Sam Wilson, F/M, Fashion designer natasha, Lawyer Bucky Barnes, Lonely Natasha, More tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 03:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19898872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymphonyWizard/pseuds/The%20Wicked%20Symphony
Summary: Inspired by an edit made by Phoebe_Snow on her Instagram.https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz-0SNml-WQ/?igshid=11g5scfb06dn1Natasha is hardworking girl freshly promoted to being a fashion designer.  She needs no friends, has no time for friends.  At least that's what she thought until she meets her handsome neighbor who is something of an artist himself.





	1. A New Friend (or Two)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phoebe_Snow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoebe_Snow/gifts), [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/gifts), [Mickeysam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mickeysam/gifts), [NatRogers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRogers/gifts), [daenerys_my_khaleesi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daenerys_my_khaleesi/gifts), [NatashaAshleyMarvelRomanoff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatashaAshleyMarvelRomanoff/gifts).



“Oh what a week,” groans Natasha as she heads into the elevator. It was her first week moving up from being an assistant at Salt & Pepper, one of the most prestigious fashion industries in the city, and she is exhausted. She had to have ten new designs for tops by the end of the week. She’s so grateful that she managed to get all of her designs in. She presented them to Pepper Potts herself and Pepper was impressed with them. She has to have several more ready by Monday.

She thought she would be happy to no longer be going on coffee and sandwich runs. She _is_ happy to no longer be doing all that. It took so much effort to keep under control every time a man would loudly leer at her. Even the ones that didn’t, she doubts that many would recognize her, having spent too much time staring at her butt or her breasts. 

Now that she has been promoted, it came with an office. It’s not a big office, nor does it have a window, but it’s still a step up from being Pepper Potts’ personal assistant. After eleven long months of being an assistant, she was promoted. Now she is a rooky fashion designer. It seems that her workload has only gotten more hectic. She has had to buy a new sketchbook to fill her designs in.

She’s been so busy that she hasn’t had much free time. In fact, she hasn’t even found time for friends. Sometimes it seems nice thinking about having girls’ nights out, or just someplace that she could meet up with friends a few times a week, but she’s just not that kind of girl. She hasn’t made much effort to be that kind of girl anyway.

She’s come a long way from being a little girl from Russia, but having friends just never crossed her mind. 

The most free time she has had was two weeks ago when she moved into her new apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. She can afford the rent now and it’s nice because she now lives in Manhattan. She doesn’t have to travel all the way from Queens for work.

It’s a single bedroom apartment with a decent sized kitchen and a balcony overlooking the city. It’s a nice upgrade from her studio apartment in Queens. She no longer needs to use her IKEA sectional as a bed, but it’s still a comfortable couch. She could still pull it out as a bed if she has an overnight guest, but she doesn’t see that happening any time soon, if ever.

So she had to buy herself a bed. She ended up finding herself a queen-sized bed. Her couch opened up into a queen-sized bed. Maybe it’s just nice having a bed that is primarily a bed. 

Now that she has more space, she is still in the process of actually filling it. She might have more time for that later. Now she just wants to enjoy the frozen pizza, potato chips and dip, and bottle of vodka over a movie this evening.

She waits patiently as the elevator rises to her twelfth-floor apartment. She moves her bag of groceries from hand to hand to give them a little rest once in a while. At least it’s a reusable bag. She never uses plastic bags if she can avoid it. 

Eventually the elevator reaches the twelfth floor and the doors slide open. She steps into the brightly colored hallway with wall-mounted lamps. It seems that she is barely out of the elevator before she feels something furry rush past her legs. 

She loses her balances and falls onto her back. She hears a loud crash. She looks at her grocery bag. “Oh, my vodka,” she moans. Her brand new bottle of vodka shattered.

Next thing she knows her face is getting attacked by a very wet tongue. She brings her hands up and they settle upon a sleek coat of fur. She pushes it away and indeed her eyes fall upon a dog. More of a puppy, really, this little fellow has mostly light tannish brown fur with white legs and white on his nose and around his neck continuing down to his chest. His fluffy tail is swishing wildly as he keeps trying to lick Natasha’s face. She’s not sure what type of breed he is.

He is absolutely adorable.

Natasha tries to ignore that little bit as she keeps the dog out of reach from her face. “Now just who are you and who do you belong to?” She sees the collar around his neck. “Dodger.” She regards the puppy thoughtfully. “You owe me a new bottle of vodka.”

She gives up trying to keep him away from her and lets him lick her, petting him lightly. _He sure is a friendly puppy_ , she thinks as she squeezes her eyes shut against his tongue.

She hears footsteps coming from behind the stairwell entrance. “Dodger, where are you? Here, boy!” she hears a man’s voice. The doors burst open behind her and she hears a sigh of relief. 

“Oh, Dodger, thank you so much, ma’am,” the man thanks. A large frame comes into her view and he stoops down. “Dodger, here boy.” He clicks his tongue. The silly animal finally detaches himself from Natasha and he runs to his owner. 

“Dodger you have been a bad boy, haven’t you,” the man admonishes. “Wanda and I have been up and down this building three times looking for you!” He finally seems to notice Natasha. “Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am.”

Now that Natasha has a good look at him, she finds herself unable to look away. This man is muscular, with sculptured biceps straining against his blue T-shirt. His chiseled face is set with blue eyes and sharp cheekbones and a pointed nose. His blond hair looks a little tousled, probably from searching everywhere for his dog, but otherwise well groomed. 

And damn, is he handsome! 

“Oh, did my dog do that?” he asks, eyeing Natasha’s fallen groceries.

Natasha looks at her bag of groceries which is now soaked through with vodka. “Your dog owes me a bottle of vodka.” She looks back at him and Dodger, who seems happy to be reunited with his owner.

“Maybe he heard your liver screaming for help,” says the man with a grin. 

Natasha doesn’t share his amusement, but she can’t help the smile that reaches her own lips. She wonders if his smile is always that infectious.

“By the way, my name’s Steve,” introduces the man, rising to his feet. He extends his free hand as he hoists his dog in the other. “What’s yours?”

Natasha rises to her feet as well and now she notices how tall Steve is. _Just another man to remind me how short I am_ , she thinks. She grasps his hand. “Natasha, but my friends call me ‘Nat’. Or at least they would if I had any friends,” she adds with a small laugh. She blinks. That was an overshare and now there’s no taking it back.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that’s true,” argues Steve. “You now have this little guy and me.” 

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Confident, much?”

“No, not really,” replies Steve. “My sister is always telling me that I ought to be a little more confident.” 

She doesn’t know why, but that brings a quiet laugh out of her. “You make yourself sound like a bit of a handful,” she teases, sizing him up for emphasis.

Steve sighs dramatically. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He looks at her thoughtfully. “You’re that lady who moved in a couple of weeks ago, aren’t you?”

Natasha clears her throat. “Um, yes, actually,” she confirms. “How’d you know?”

“Apartment buildings can be like small towns, Nat,” explains Steve. 

Natasha has to keep a straight face. No one has actually called her that, so she was unprepared to actually hear it. 

“You know my friends and I are having a cookout on the roof, you should join us,” invites Steve. Up until now, he has sounded very confident and sure of himself. Asking that one question, he sounds a little _unsure_ , shy even. It’s very endearing. “I-I…I mean you don’t have to, if you have other plans…”

“I’d love to,” Natasha says, sparing him. 

Steve stops immediately and smiles. “Great, I live in the penthouse. Um, I’ll see you at four-thirty?”

Natasha grins toothily. “I’ll be there.”

“See you then,” says Steve. He looks down at Dodger still hoisted against his chest and raises an eyebrow. “What’re Wanda and I going to do with you, you silly pooch?” As if in response, Dodger whines and Natasha just wants to hug the animal. Steve grumbles lightheartedly as he walks to the elevator. 

Natasha watches him until the elevator doors close behind him. She gathers her grocery bag. At least everything besides the vodka is intact. She heads to her apartment and welcomes the flowery smell of it as she steps inside. She takes her groceries out carefully and then dumps the broken glass into the trash. Then she slumps down onto her couch.

She finds herself smiling. She was planning on spending the evening alone, but then a man and his clumsy puppy stepped into her life. 

She figures it can only go uphill from there. 


	2. Welcome to the Rogers

Natasha shifts from one foot to the other as the elevator ascends to the top floor of her building. She grips her purse with both hands to keep herself from playing with them. Already, they feel a little clammy. Even before she left her apartment, she was contemplating her outfit.

Originally, this afternoon would have involved changing out of her blouse and pencil skirt into pajama bottoms and tank top. She did change out of her skirt because some spilt vodka got on it. Now she’s just wearing a pair of black slacks with her white cap-sleeved blouse. She’s never been a top-button girl, but still she unbuttoned another button. She thought she would at least appear more casual without showing off too much of her cleavage. Also, she took the band holding her hair up. Now her red locks frame her face in loose waves. 

And now she is wondering why she put even that much effort into her appearance. 

She had never been to a cookout. She had never been personally invited to anything. There might have been office parties at Salt & Pepper, but she usually found herself too busy to attend. She had designs to draw up, outfits to put together for upcoming runway shows. Even when she did manage to attend a party, she never actually spoke to anyone, and no one spoke to her either.s

She considers herself a people person. She doesn’t hate people, but maybe she is a little more unapproachable than she means to be. There _are_ people that she does hate, but that’s anybody, right? 

She really doesn’t know what she is getting herself into. More than once she has considered bailing, but every time the thought comes up, she thinks it will cause one of two things: either Steve will be so disappointed and never bother her again or he will come knocking on her door wondering what’s wrong. Somehow, she doesn’t want to risk upsetting him. 

Why is that, when she barely knows the guy? 

As the elevator reaches the top floor, she forces herself to accept that she will have to save her musings for later. The elevator door opens and she finds herself face to face with the zero-clearance door. She knocks twice. Not five seconds later, the door swings open and she sees Steve. 

He changed his shirt. Now he’s wearing black buttoned shirt with the collar button undone and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair looks nicer too, less tousled and more combed in a neat sideswipe. Now she can clearly see his neatly trimmed sideburns. And to top things off is his ear-to-ear grin that’s impossible to look away from, let alone be unable to smile at. 

“Nat, I’m so glad you could make it,” he says, still smiling. “Please, come in.” He steps aside to let her into the penthouse. 

Natasha steps into the penthouse and she has to take a moment to stop and stare a bit. There’s an awful lot of glass all around, so the place is brightly lit by the sunny day outside. Out the window, she can see a breathtaking view of the Hudson River. The floors are plywood, polished to the point that they somewhat reflect the furniture on top of it. As for furniture, the room that she has stepped into has a set of light blue sectional couches situated in front of what looks like a seventy-inch television set with a sound bar. Those couches sure look a lot plusher than her sectional. 

On either side of the sectionals are accent tables that match the plywood floor. The same can be said for the coffee table in front of the couches. Moving on from those inviting couches, the wall beyond…well she can’t say she knows what the wall itself looks like. Almost every inch of the wall is hidden behind high bookshelves and some of the most exquisite paintings she has ever seen. Right below the bookshelves are a few armchairs with reading lamps right above them. They too have small accent tables with some framed photographs on them. She can’t see exactly what they look like from here.

Near the bookshelves is a skeletal set of stairs leading to the upper floor which she can see a part of thanks to the balcony. 

Farther off in the room, she sees a dining table and now she sees some other people outside. And this is all that she can see from just standing in the foyer. She wonders what else this apartment has to offer. As if in answer, she sees water splashing on the other side of the glass. “You have a swimming pool?” she asks.

“Yes, I do,” confirms Steve, coming into her view. She turns towards him and sees him staring at his feet awkwardly. “I suppose I could have told you that in case you wanted to bring your swimsuit.”

Now Natasha finds herself blushing. “I don’t look very good in a swimsuit.” She fights the urge to touch her belly. The scar on her belly isn’t something that she really wants people to see. “Plus, I don’t even own a swimsuit,” she adds, which is perfectly true. 

“Do you not swim or have just not gotten around to getting yourself a new pair?” asks Steve.

“I just haven’t had much opportunity to swim in a long time.” With most people this much curiosity would start to get on her nerves, but something about is just so disarming. It could be his eyes, the deep texture of them and the way they squint a little when he smiles. It could be his voice. 

“Steve, there you are,” says a feminine, accented voice. “Who’s the visitor?”

Natasha follows the voice. Her eyes fall upon a somewhat tall young lady—well taller than her anyway, but that’s not hard to achieve. She has some of the sharpest cheekbones she’s ever seen on a woman with green eyes, long light brown hair, and a slim build. She’s not skinny, but not quite curvaceous either. Natasha has been described as curvaceous, busty even. The one person who used that word was drunk and tried to make a move on her.

This girl also looks like she just came out of the pool given how wet she is with a towel wrapped around her waist. It does little to hide the red bikini to make her bra. Also, Dodger comes up to Natasha, barking and swishing his fluffy tail wildly. 

“Dodger seems to like you,” says the young woman. 

“I guess so,” agrees Natasha, bending down to stroke the excited puppy behind the ears for a moment. She then offers her hand to the young woman. “By the way, my name is Nat.” There’s a first. She’s never introduced herself as Nat before. Has she stepped into an alternate dimension? “So are you and Steve together?”

Wanda and Steve exchange a glance and then they start laughing. 

Natasha frowns. “I’m sorry, did I say something funny?”

Wanda widens her eyes as she faces her. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Nat,” she apologizes. “We’re not laughing _at_ you. We’re brother and sister.”

Natasha looks from her to Steve and back again. “You look nothing alike.”

“She’s my adopted sister,” Steve clarifies. “And we’re used to people thinking we’re ‘together’ when they meet us for the first time. Hey, don’t feel embarrassed,” he adds quickly as Natasha averts her gaze to hide her blush. 

“Sorry, I’m just…” _I’m just not used to being with other people_ , but there’s no point in sharing that. “I should leave.” She turns around and makes her way to the door, ignoring Steve’s protests. Even as she does, the door opens and she bumps into a tall frame. “I’m so sorry,” she says looking up. This guy is also buff, with a square jawline to go with his boyish features and a mop of brown hair and blue eyes. 

“Haven’t I met enough handsome men for one day?” she mutters under her breath. 

“Excuse me?” the man asks. “And who are you?”

“Bucky, this is our new friend, Nat,” replies Steve.

At that, a smile spreads across Bucky’s face. “Well then, nice to meet you. Where are you going? Have I missed Sam’s kebabs?”

“I sure hope you haven’t because I just finished them,” says another voice. 

Natasha spins around and sees the man who was outside cooking. “Make that _three_ handsome men,” she mutters through her teeth. This African American also has big arms with closely buzzed hair connected to a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. Half of her wonders if her being here will help even out the amount of testosterone, but Wanda seems quite comfortable with these guys.

Wait, she takes that back. She looks at Wanda and sees her fighting back a blush. She follows her blush and her eyes fall back on Bucky.

“Hey, Wanda,” he says, walking further into the apartment. 

“Hi, James,” she replies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

Natasha can’t help smiling. Her view of the scene is interrupted by the man named Sam. 

“Hi, I’m Sam Wilson,” he introduces, extending his hand. 

“Natasha Romanov,” she introduces back, grasping his hand and shaking it. “Call me Nat.” 

“Nat,” repeats Sam, as if experimenting how the name feels on his tongue. “It’s nice to meet you. Steve couldn’t stop talking about you.”

“Oh,” Natasha turns her gaze towards Steve. “Is that so?”

Steve scowls at Sam, or at least tries to as his cheeks have turns a bright red. “I haven’t been talking about her that much.”

“Yeah you have,” says Wanda. “‘I ran into that woman who moved in downstairs recently while chasing after Dodger’,” she mimes. 

Now Natasha is curious. “What else did he say?”

Wanda opens her mouth to answer, but Steve cuts her off. “How about we grab ourselves some kebabs before they get cold, okay?”

He heads out the sliding glass door, leaving Wanda, Sam, and Bucky snickering. 

“Am I missing something?” asks Natasha. That just makes the three of them burst into fits of laughter. 

“Welcome to the Rogers’,” says Wanda. She walks over to Natasha and links her arm through hers. “Come on, Nat. Part of being in this house means pigging out whenever Sam commandeers our grill.”

“That’s _my_ grill,” argues Sam. “If it weren’t for me, that grill wouldn’t be put to any good use.”

“We can still rescind your welcome,” Wanda fires back.

“You’d regret that.” Sam rushes forward and opens the glass door for them. “Ladies first.” 

Wanda giggles as she and Natasha step past the threshold and out onto the terrace. It’s still very hot out, making Natasha wish she had a swimsuit to put on and just dive into that pool. She doesn’t smell chlorine, perhaps it’s a saltwater pool? It can be gentler on the skin. Besides, even it is a chlorinated pool, the logical part of her brain is asking how could smell it? 

Her nose is completely invaded by some of the best smelling food she’s ever smelled. She hears some chuckling beside her and she realizes her stomach actually growled. She averts her gaze to hide her blush. 

“Aw, Nat there’s no need to be embarrassed,” Wanda assures. “Come on, grab a plate.” She detaches herself from Natasha and now Natasha sees the table full of food. 

She sees grilled corn-on-the-cob, a tower of kebabs made up of smoked peppers, what looks like bacon-wrapped shrimp, and stuffed mushrooms. Also there’s a big bowl of heated applesauce. Also there’s an ice bucket full of beer and water. 

“Do you drink beer?” asks Sam, who is still roasting kebabs. She’s noticed his apron now and she reads the caption on it. 

Instead of answering him, she grabs a beer, uncorks it and takes an exaggerated swig of it. When she’s done with her sip, she sees all three of the guys staring at her. Sam has a spatula halfway towards the grill; Bucky looks a little…emasculated as he stares from her to his own bottle of beer; Steve has a wide grin on his face. She’s starting to think that’s one of his best features. 

She belches, and then shrugs. “What, I’m Russian. Can _you_ all handle _your_ liquor?” She takes another swig.

Steve is the first to laugh. “Come on, Nat, I fill you a plate.”

“Steve, I can do it myself,” Natasha insists.

“No, really, I want to,” says Steve, grabbing a plate and filling it with some food. “How many kebabs do you want?”

“I’ll start with two,” replies Natasha. Steve stares at her. “I have a big appetite.” Steve laughs and just fills her plate for her. When he’s done he hands it to her and guides her to circular table at the corner of the terrace. She can’t help smiling as he pulls out a chair for her. As she seats herself, she sees the city below. From here she has a breathtaking view of Central Park.

She sees the trees and she wonders what hides beneath the depths of all that green. She sees the body of water—the name of which she can’t remember—and she can’t believe how small it looks from up here. She has been to Central Park many times; whether she just wanted to go for a walk or to just enjoy what little nature New York had to offer. Seeing Central Park from up here puts the place into a whole new perspective. The place seems like a pitiful backyard in the middle of extreme urbanization. 

What did New York look like before it became a sea of skyscrapers? Seeing New York from up here fills her mind with longing memories of the Russian wilderness where she grew up. Being up here, the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that no matter where she stands in Central Park, she can always see some of the high rises of Manhattan. Even if she can’t, there’s still that horrible awareness that she is in the middle of a city. 

She hasn’t seen much of this country outside of New York City. She would love to find places to visit, see what sorts of wilderness the country has to offer. She would like to see how it compares the Russian tundra and boreal forests. 

“Nat, is everything okay?”

And just like that, Natasha’s thoughts are shattered. She turns towards Steve who is sitting across the table from her. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine I’m just…” what was she doing?

She hears Wanda laugh. “Steve, this woman has the same look you have when you’re trying to figure out how to put your imagination on canvas.” 

“Canvas?” repeats Natasha. “Steve, are you an artist?”

Steve inhales sharply. “Thanks a lot, Wanda.”

“Steve, you make it sound like something to be ashamed of!” laughs Bucky. “Miss, our buddy Steve here is one of the best artists in the city!”

Natasha sits up straighter as she takes one of her kebabs. She takes a big bite of it. Whatever question she had for Steve is lost as she tastes the bacon-wrapped shrimp. “Oh, my God, this is delicious!”

“Thanks,” says Sam, who is sitting on a lounge chair with a plate of his own. “Sometime, you should come to my restaurant in Harlem.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows. “You own a restaurant?”

“The Falcon’s Nest,” confirms Sam with a proud smile. “You should come by sometime.” 

Natasha scrutinizes the people around her as she indulges in her meal, which she is really enjoying. “So I have a painter, a restauranteur/chef, and what about you two?” she asks indicating Bucky and Wanda. 

Wanda blushes. “I’m...actually a concert violinist,” she explains. “I’m a Julliard graduate and I’ve performed with the Philharmonics for a few years.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows. “Wow, that’s amazing!” 

“And I have the most boring occupation,” says Bucky, a bit too dejectedly to the point of sounding dramatic. “I’m an attorney for my family’s law firm, Barnes Consolidated.”

Natasha studies him thoughtfully, searching those calming blue eyes of his. “I can’t tell if you’re an actual downer or if you just an overgrown drama queen.”

Bucky blinks several times while everyone else starts laughing. 

Natasha watches Wanda sink into a chair with her laughter. “Where have you been all my life?” she asks through her laughs. 

Natasha isn’t sure how to answer that question. She’s just too concerned about the look on Steve’s face. He’s laughing too, while also petting Dodger who has decided to come join the crowd. The way Steve’s face lights up as he laughs just makes her feel…safe the more she looks at it. 

That feeling is too unfamiliar. Being around these people, laughing with people she might actually call _friends_ …

She drops her unfinished corn and stands up suddenly. Everyone stops laughing immediately.

“Nat is everything okay?” asks Steve. 

She shakes her head uncertainly. “I’m sorry, I have to leave. Thanks for the meal.” She turns around and heads back into the apartment. 

“Natasha, wait!” Steve calls after her. “What’s wrong, I thought we were all having a good time?”

She doesn’t dare turn around as she heads for the elevator. If she does, she will want to stay longer, but she can’t do that. So she does what she does best. She isolates herself.

But she gets into the elevator and feels its descent, she starts to feel like she’s making a steadily worsening mistake.

Maybe it’s a mistake she will just have to live with. 


	3. Underappreciated Designs

Natasha fights to keep still as she sits across from Pepper’s desk. Even with her newly elevated position, coming into Pepper Potts’ office is a bit intimidating. Actually, now that she’s a fashion designer, it feels a little more intimidating. Natasha finally has an opportunity to present her creativity. Pepper Potts is not an easy woman to please. 

She hasn’t even heard back from Pepper regarding the last batch of designs she turned in. When her new assistant came to her office telling her that Pepper needed to see her, she was both excited and nervous. She can’t remember the last time Ms. Potts said more than ten words to her besides her job interview when she was hired.

It’s an interesting story as to how she was hired. The same day she had her interview was also the day that Tony Stark came in. The CEO of Stark Industries has always been sweet on Ms. Potts. However, he’s not exactly a one-woman sort of man. He even tried to make a move on Natasha. He grabbed her and she reflexively punched him.

Pepper’s office is through a glass door and she must have seen the whole encounter. Natasha still wonders if she would have been hired if it weren’t for her punching Tony Stark. Pepper must have been really pissed off with him that day. Natasha was scared to death that Mr. Stark would press charges, but Pepper assured her that he wouldn’t do anything. She said that pressing charges would be him admitting that Natasha simply damaged his ego.

She must have been right, because charges were never pressed. 

Sometimes she even found herself wondering if she made a good choice being Pepper Potts’ assistant. She put up with a lot of crap over the past year. Admittedly, not too much of it was from Ms. Potts herself, but she does have a lot of men working for her. It seemed like no day was complete without at least one of them leering at Natasha, or making lewd comments about her no matter how she dressed. 

It certainly made it hard to make any friends. Some guys were kind to her. Outside of work, she has become well acquainted with a man named Clint who regularly sells his produce at Union Square. He and his family are nice to her. Still, she hasn’t seen herself forming any close friendships.

Work has kept her very busy. Why does it seem like fate that it wasn’t until she finally got promoted and moved to the Upper West Side, that she finally found the first person she was willing to call a friend? That man, Steve. He was so kind to her and he offered her to meet his friends and family. She still feels awful for rushing off, but it was all so overwhelming. 

Maybe having a friend is something that she didn’t know she wanted. Perhaps it is something she wanted, but she forced herself to focus on other things. Meeting Steve and his friends just seemed like too much all at once. 

She hears Pepper clear her throat. Immediately, she snaps out of her thoughts and focuses her attention on her boss. 

Pepper looks over Natasha’s portfolio and then back at Natasha. “Did you ever dance ballet?” she asks.

Natasha clears her throat. “Yes, actually,” she replies. “I was prima ballerina for the Bolshoi theatre.”

“Mm,” grunts Pepper, looking over the sketches again. “I that some of your ballet history has translated into your designs. And what of this symbol?” Pepper holds up a design of a miniskirt dress and points to the waist. She’s pointing to a red hourglass-shape acting as a sort of faux belt buckle. 

“Oh, it’s a black widow symbol,” replies Natasha. 

“Black widow,” repeats Pepper. “Do you have a thing for black widow spiders?”

Natasha laughs nervously. “No, but I was once bitten several times by black widow spiders. I was lucky I survived.”

“That must have been a horrible experience,” says Pepper, sounding genuine. “So, why this symbol?”

“It’s my personal logo,” replies Natasha.

“Where would Salt & Pepper’s logo go?” asks Pepper.

Natasha hesitates. “Um, I’m sorry?”

“These designs are for the company, aren’t they?” asks Pepper matter-of-factly.

Natasha tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, they are, but…”

“Miss Romanov, let me be frank with you,” says Pepper. “Based on these designs, it’s clear you have talent. I daresay that you have barely even grazed the depths of that talent. But you work for this company. I’m always looking for something new, something fresh, but they need to reflect the company. I can’t accept these designs. But I do look forward to seeing what else you have to present to me.” She stands up and comes around her desk so that she is right in front of Natasha. She then holds out the portfolio. 

“I expect to see a new set of designs by the end of the week,” she says. “Have a good day.”

Natasha takes her portfolio and lets the woman guide her out of the office. Natasha forces a smile as the blonde closes the door behind her. She makes it to the elevator and presses the button to the lobby before she lets out a long sigh. She slumps against the wall of the elevator. She opens up her portfolio and regards each of her designs thoughtfully. 

She loves each of her designs. The first design she looks at is a red cocktail dress with a white sash-like lace strap leading from the left shoulder and ending at the right side of the waist connecting to a matching lace belt. The skirt itself is crooked with the right side stopping at the knee and the left side being closer to the hip. The dress goes with the black tights with a floral pattern that matches lace strap of the dress. Topping off the dress is a part of black three-inch heels. 

The second design is a gown. Inspired by spiders, the dress has a spider web print all over it. The bodice is purple silk with a modest flat neckline and no straps. The spider web print is silver with a mild glitter to it. The back of the wearer is all but bare save for two lengths of clear silk connecting both sides of the dress. The flared skirt is a much lighter purple, almost translucent, but not enough to make the wearer’s legs visible. The spider web print on the skirt, instead of silvery like the bodice, matches the deep purple of the bodice. 

As with the design that Pepper reprimanded for featuring Natasha’s personal logo, the cocktail dress and the gown both have hourglasses at the waist. One the cocktail dress, the hourglass is formed by small lace formation. Natasha thinks it looks great on her sketch, but worries it will be a challenge to make that design look right when she creates the real dress. On the gown, the hourglass is more cleverly placed, if she says so herself. 

It might be easily missed unless it is pointed out, but drawing inspiration from optical illusions, Natasha placed the hourglass on the bodice. It took a few drafts to get it right, but she managed to form a bodice that, when you look at it one way, all you see is interconnecting spider webs forming from the swell of the wearer’s breasts to her waist. Look at it another way, you might see an hourglass in the exact same pattern the corners at the tops of the breasts and at the waistline. 

That will certainly be a challenge to create when she makes the actual dress. More likely, _if_ she makes the actual dress. She is always up for the challenge of bringing her designs to life, but how can she if they aren’t even approved?

The elevator reaches the lobby and Natasha closes up her portfolio. As soon as she steps out of the building, she squints at the afternoon sun. She breathes a sigh of relief as she puts on her sunglasses. Feeling worse by the minute, she doesn’t even call a cab. Her feet are moving, but she isn’t terribly concerned about where she is going. Beyond knowing where the sidewalk is and knowing when to cross the street, her judgment seems all but turned off. 

She could walk from where she in Midtown Manhattan all the way to Hell’s Kitchen or Harlem and not care. If she walks to Hell’s Kitchen, she might run into her old flame, Matt Murdock. They had a rough falling out, but she does remember that there were more good days than bad days between them. There just came a time when their ambitions no longer clicked with each other. She wanted to get into fashion and his law firm that he shared with his best friend, Foggy, was becoming well established. Now they are some of the most well-respected defense attorneys in the city.

Also, last Natasha heard, Matt was engaged to Karen Page. She shed more tears hearing that news than she would care to admit, but she’s happy for him. At least she is on good terms with Matt. 

Why is she thinking about him? Is she just trying to make herself miserable by reminding herself of her friendless life? She hasn’t had any friends since Matt. The first person who was willing to call her a friend was Steve Rogers. Should she go up to his penthouse when she gets home? Should she offer some sort of explanation for rushing off? 

He didn’t rush after her. He didn’t come knocking on her door wondering what was wrong, so he probably isn’t even all that interested in her. 

As Natasha continues to wander, she somehow manages to find Central Park. She’s not wearing the proper shoes for a stroll, but she wouldn’t mind a walk in the park either. Still, it’s not long before her feet start to hurt in her high heels. 

Sometimes she would like to write a strongly worded letter to whoever invented high heels. They can be fashionable, but also very bad for your feet. Eventually, she finds herself a bench to sit on. She could have sat on the first bench she found, but she didn’t want to sit too close the entrance the park. She wanted to be surrounded by it. 

As soon as she sits, she almost regrets it. Not far off, she sees a stand where someone is selling soft pretzels. She could use one of those right now, along with one of those bottles of water the vender is also selling. But she is too tired to rise from her seat.

She doesn’t know if she meant to, but she can see the apartment building she lives in from here. Squinting against the afternoon sun, she looks towards the top. Steve lives in that penthouse. The more she looks up at it, the more she’s tempted to ignore her sore feet and go ring his doorbell. He might let her in. His sister, Wanda, might let her in. 

Natasha wonders what her story is. How did Wanda come into Steve’s family? Judging by her accent, Natasha wonders if Wanda was adopted internationally. She definitely wasn’t a baby when she became Steve’s sister.

She’s only seen him for a total of a few hours she would be lying if she said he didn’t fascinate her. He was clearly very wealthy, yet he didn’t seem to flaunt his wealth. He has a colorful group of friends and he seems to glow just a little differently with each of them. It’s like each of them bring out something slightly different in him. Maybe if she interacted with him a little more, she might get a deeper understanding of it. She doesn’t think that the differences are extreme; more of the different shades of the same color. 

That could also be part of the reason she wanted to get out as soon as possible. She doesn’t want to be interested in men or anyone really. She just wants to set these designs on fire and start from scratch. 

Why she should have to do that? Why should she have to conform to someone else’s idea of a good design? She’s proud of her designs. Sometimes the thought of taping a picture of Pepper Potts’ face to a dartboard has crossed her mind. 

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of running footsteps. Suddenly she feels a wet—and very familiar—tongue licking her face. She brings her arms up to push the animal away. She sees a reddish tan face with a white snout and a bushing tail wagging excitedly. 

“Dodger,” Natasha addresses. “If you’re here that must mean Steve isn’t far behind.”

“Yep,” answers Steve’s voice.

Natasha cranes her neck and indeed sees Steve. He’s wearing a pair of shades, a white V-neck T-shirt and black jeans. The way that shirt is straining against his biceps is very hard to look away from. He’s also holding tennis ball. He’s regarding it thoughtfully. 

“You know, Dodger was supposed to fetch me this ball,” he says, still looking at the tennis ball. Finally he turns his attention towards Natasha with a smirk. “Instead he fetches me a silly neighbor.”

Natasha blinks up at him. By now, Dodger has calmed down and is now just sitting next to her on the bench, panting happily. She strokes him behind the ears, earning her an appreciative whine. “Silly neighbor?” she repeats. 

“Is there a better word for a woman who leaves without explanation, before we got into the fun stuff, after she has been invited?” Steve asks quizzically. “I can tell you enjoyed the food, but you left so suddenly. Why?”

Natasha can tell he is genuinely curious. She can also see that he’s a little hurt that she left so suddenly. It only makes her feel worse. She turns away from him, glancing at their apartment building again. She doesn’t need to look to know he has come around and taken a seat next to her, placing Dodger between them. 

“Was it all too much at once?” he asks tenderly.

Natasha nods quietly. “I’m not used to being invited to things. I told you I don’t have any friends. And…”

“And suddenly your neighbor introduces himself, his sister, and two of his friends,” Steve finishes perceptively. “Maybe it would have been better to start with something simpler.”

“Or I could’ve just not run off,” Natasha throws out.

“No, Nat,” argues Steve.

She looks at him, registering his firm gaze. He could cut people down with the intensity of that gaze. 

“I overwhelmed you and that was a mistake on my part,” he explains. “And for that I’m sorry.”

She wants to tell him that he has nothing to apologize for, but the more she looks into those eyes, the more she just wants to hug him. “Apology accepted,” she says, hoping her smile is as sincere as her voice is.

“If you want to try again, there’s an art gallery this evening downtown,” invites Steve. He looks away and reaches up with one hand, fixing his sunglasses while trying to hide the growing flush in his cheeks. It’s that same shyness that she saw when he invited her to his cookout. She’s starting to think that he’s not very confident when it comes to asking women out. Or it could just be her. 

She really wants to tease him for it, but this one time, she chooses to spare him. “I’ll be there,” she promises. “And I won’t run off this time,” she adds with a smirk.

Her answer seems to lessen some of the shyness in his features, replacing it with that characteristic big smile of his. “I hope not, I’d hate to see you run off again,” he says. “Do you want to pick you up, or should I just believe that you’ll show up somewhere around seven?”

Natasha smirks. “If I don’t show up, you have permission to knock down my front door.”

Steve raises an eyebrow as he pulls out a pen. “Do you have something I can write the address on?”

Natasha opens her purse and takes out her notebook. Steve starts writing in it as soon as she hands it to him. 

“I hope I don’t scare you off by saying this, but I really hope we can talk about that dress sketch I see peeking out of that folder of yours,” says Steve as he hands her back the notebook. He turns away, calling Dodger who follows after him, before she can give him a shocked look. 

She looks down at her portfolio folder and indeed one of her sketches is peeking out. A part of her feels like he just saw her naked. Yet there is also another part of her that thinks for once there might actually be someone who appreciates her work. 

Why does that fill her head with ideas for new designs? 


	4. A Perceptive Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a few attempts to type this chapter as my word document crashed on me a number of times, but here y'all are. Please enjoy and review if you could.

Natasha looks out the window of the taxi as it drives through the city. She’s done this so many times, but there is still an allure to seeing the city pass by her, especially as the sun goes down. At six-forty-five in the evening, there is still a glow from the failing sunlight, but it is dark enough for the city to have lit up. It truly is a beautiful city, though she misses the allure of places like Moscow, or Volgograd where she was born. 

She pulls out her pocket mirror and inspects herself. She can’t remember the last time she had a date. It’s a miracle that she was even able to decide what dress to wear. Under her black trench coat is a jaguar-print cocktail dress with spaghetti straps and a matched belt that tied off in the back. Maybe it exemplifies her breasts more than she intended when she made it, but she likes it. The neckline offers a view of the swell of her breasts with every breath she takes, but without a distracting view of her cleavage. She didn’t have matching shoes to wear with it, but her black open-toed stilettos go quite nicely with it. 

Her hair is as wavy as ever, somewhat veiling her glittery golden rope earrings. She has thought about putting blonde streaks in her hair, but is worried how it will turn out. That’s strange, because she had never been so worried about how her hair or any part of her appearance would turn out. She does take special care in her appearance, but she has never been _this_ worried.

The taxi takes her to a part of town that she hasn’t been to before. Actually, she recognizes the place in terms of bearings, but she has only passed through this part of town before. She’s lived in New York City for quite some time, but she hasn’t taken a chance to explore the city. Work has kept her busy. Life has kept her busy, really. And it’s better to explore the city when you have spending money. New York City is like a little country all on its own with more culturally diverse neighborhoods in five boroughs than some places have in a whole state. 

The cabby announces their arrival and he pulls to the curb. Natasha thanks him for the ride and hands him his cash through the window. Then she steps out into the evening city. Her ears have long grown accustomed to going from the muffled drone of the inside of a car to the ceaseless cacophony of Manhattan. Sometimes it gives her longing memories of the boreal forests of Russia. 

She loved hiking in those forests as a child. She can’t remember the last time she has gone hiking. All she can say on the matter is that she hasn’t gone hiking on this continent. She has never been invited to go hiking. Matt was never one for hiking. He freaked her out the first few times that he went for jogs with her.

He might be blind, but Matt Murdock is arguably more competent than some who can see. Wistfully, she remembers times when he asked her to describe the sunsets or the trees in Central Park. Likewise, she listened to him as he told her what things sounded like. He used to tell her that someday he would like to know the sounds of the Russian wilderness over the drone of New York. Maybe that could still happen someday, just not with them as a couple. It’s interesting that things like those could be running through her mind as she heads to an art gallery.

She heads to the art gallery. Soon she sees that she’s not the only one who is arriving. Other well-dressed people, people in suits and dresses that look more expensive than hers. She has moved up at Salt & Pepper, but she’s not an A-lister. She’s not as rich as someone like Steve Rogers seems to be. More than once, she has asked herself what exactly she is getting herself into.

She reaches the ornate glass doorway. Within, she can see walls lined with paintings, but she knows it’s only a mild view of all that is inside. As she reaches the doorway, she is stopped by a doorman.

“Invitation?” he asks.

Natasha gulps. She didn’t know anything about that. “Steve Rogers invited me,” she replies confidently. The only thing she is really confident about is how good of a façade she can manage. There was no reason for this guy to know just how nervous she felt. 

He looks her up and down skeptically. “Right,” he says slowly. “Name?”

“Natasha Romanov,” she replies. Does she need to show him her driver’s license? She goes through the list on his tablet. She doesn’t need to look behind her to know that she is holding up the line. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it looks like you aren’t on the guest list,” says the doorman. He’s starting to remind Natasha more of a bouncer than a doorman. She wonders if all art galleries are this exclusive. 

“I know Steve Rogers, if he’s here, could you please tell him who I am?” asks Natasha. 

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to leave,” says the man. “Unless you have a publicist’s pass or something like that, I need you to…”

“Nat, you made it!” it’s not Steve’s voice. Natasha follows the voice and her eyes land on Wanda. Natasha looks over the young lady’s dress. Her brown hair is up in a large bun with loose tendrils of hair framing her face. Little red earrings match her glittery red silk cocktail dress. It’s a halter dress with a neckline plunging low and offering an unsubtle view of her cleavage. Natasha would argue that her face is inviting as her chest. The shape of her eyes isn’t as sharp as Natasha’s, but her eyeliner would suggest otherwise. Her sharp cheekbones seem to shine with just the right amount of the blush.

Wanda is truly a beautiful young lady. 

She tells the doorman to back off and puts an arm around Natasha, steering her into the building. “Sorry you had to deal with that,” she apologizes. 

“I don’t understand,” says Natasha as they enter the foyer. Someone takes her coat and suddenly she feels a little exposed. “Steve invited me to this event, so shouldn’t I have been on the list?”

Wanda laughs with a shake of her head. “My silly brother,” she sighs. “He forgets to add half the people that he invites to exclusive events like this.”

“Why is the guest list so exclusive to begin with?” asks Natasha, curiously. 

“That is for you to ask him,” says Wanda carefully. “I mean I could tell you, but I’m not sure that it’s appropriate for me to say.”

That only feeds her curiosity, but Natasha lets it go. “Fair enough,” she says.

“By the way, you look beautiful!” exclaims Wanda.

Now Natasha is starting to feel self-conscious, but she’s learned a long time ago to hide her emotions. “Thanks,” she says with a controlled smile. “So where’s Steve?”

“Either fashionably late or doing his best to hide from everyone,” replies Wanda with a shake of her head. “It’s no use trying to hunt him down. If I were you, I would just enjoy the art.” With that, she excuses herself and heads off to speak to some people. 

Natasha thinks that maybe Wanda is better at being a people person than Steve is. Perhaps he is trying to avoid people.

Why would he be trying to avoid everyone? Natasha wonders. Perhaps the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes he did seem a little shy with her at times. He spoke with her easily enough, but both times that he asked her to do something with him he seemed very shy. Visiting his home, she saw how congenial he was with his friends and family, with her even. But how is he with other people? How is he with people he is less familiar with? How is he with crowds? 

As much as these questions keep running through her mind, she finds herself more drawn to the art surrounding her. She has always been quite fond of art. Her appreciation for it is limited by her budget. Artwork can get expensive; she just doesn’t have that kind of spending money. She does have a modest account built up from working for Salt & Pepper, and she’s bound to earn more given her elevated position. She has a few paintings and photographs in her apartment. 

None of them came from art galleries or commissions. One of the photographs she found at an arts and crafts store when she was shopping for sewing materials. It’s a large three-foot-foot black and white forest image that she hangs over her bed. She also has a couple paintings. She found both of them at an arts festival. One is that of a fictional depiction of space. The colors are not what she would expect of space. She would have thought of it as little more than a black void full of stars. And she found this painting with space featuring shades of blue and green and purple all as part of some vast cosmic cloud. She’s not one for astronomy, but she thinks it’s a beautiful painting. 

Her other painting is also very interesting. It builds off the idea of a flat paradise with its waters falling down into an unknown depth. Vibrant colors depict a golden city with tall towers at its center that seem to reflect the sunlight. Around the city are mountains and even a valley of green between some of those mountains, suggesting a dense forest. 

At this art gallery, Natasha does see some works of art that show colorful depictions of fantasy settings. She also sees still-life, portraits, and depictions of real-life settings. She sees a good number of paintings, photographs, and pastels of places in New York. Surprisingly, as beautiful as some of them are, they don’t spark much of an interest in her. She doesn’t mind seeing the city through the eyes of other people, but it does feed her sense of escapism, of stepping into a dream. 

One painting in particular catches her attention. She takes a few steps closer to it and inspects it. It’s a depiction of a little boy in the middle of a wet, rainy road. On all sides of him, doors are closed and some lights are on. There are shadows of people within those houses and none of them seem to be concerned about the boy outside. The boy is in a T-shirt and worn shorts and shoes. His only protection from the rain is a ripped umbrella. 

The buildings loom over him, all of them inviting warmth and escape from the dreary weather, but there’s not a single open door. For Natasha, it has something of a Hans Christian Anderson vibe. 

But aside from the depiction itself, the painting is exquisite. The brushstrokes are very precise. She almost thinks that it’s too precise, as if the painter might’ve been too preoccupied with perfection. That thought is quickly erased as she focuses more on the painting. There is a sense of freedom in the painting. It’s very subtle, but it’s there. From the wet cobblestones of the path to the sky above, there is a slight laziness in the flow of paint. If the depiction isn’t sad enough, the brushstrokes seem to show that the painter might not have been in a cheerful mood when he or she painted it. 

“Does this painting fascinate you?”

She knows that voice. She turns around and nearly loses her balance at the sight before her. It’s Steve Rogers, but is it? 

She can’t count on one hand the number of occasions she has met him, but she doesn’t think that any number of encounters could prepare her for this. Steve Rogers is in a suit! The black Burberry suit fits him like a glossy second skin. The three-buttoned coat of it strains against his shoulders. She half-wonders if all his upper clothing would burst if he flexed his muscles. Underneath the coat is a deep blue shirt. He’s not wearing a tie like some of the men here, but rather has two of the upper buttons undone. She catches herself staring at the divot hiding his chest and finds herself wondering what’s underneath.

 _Get your mind out of the gutter, Romanov!_ Natasha screams at herself mentally.

She clears her throat. “It’s a beautiful painting,” she says sincerely. She turns back to face the painting, more or less letting her hair fly as she whips her head around. “It’s depressing, if I will be honest. It provokes an awful sense of loneliness. This boy is underdressed and underequipped for the harsh weather. It doesn’t look like he has any real sense of where he is going. All the doors around him are closed and I’m guessing that no one inside could give a damn about the boy in need of shelter. 

“The depiction aside, the _way_ it has been painted conveys the melancholy atmosphere. Some of the paint is blotchy and jagged especially on the road and the sky above. Part of it could be the distortion that comes with looking through a rain-splattered window, but I don’t think that’s the case. Some parts of it are too precise. The boy is painted with exquisite precision. The buildings around him are a bit precise too. It seems as if the artist couldn’t decide whether he or she wanted to make a serious effort or if they were just too depressed. The artist was just too lost in his or her misery to care about anything other than finishing the painting. How it turned out seemed to matter little the artist.

“I, for one, would love to tell the artist that this painting is gorgeous,” Natasha finishes with a smile. She finally turns back to Steve. He’s beaming. That’s interesting. 

“You are perceptive as you are stunning, Natasha,” he says. “And thank you.”

She can’t fight back the blush at his comment. “You think I’m stunning?” she teases. She’s beginning to associate the stuttering shyness with him whenever she calls him out on the compliments he gives her. It’s unbelievably endearing. “And why do you say ‘thank you’?” she adds. He shrugs and comprehension dawns on her. “This is your painting, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so,” replies Steve shyly. “And I was in a very bad place when I painted this.” He sighs deeply and looks away. 

Natasha realizes that she might have touched a very vulnerable topic for Steve. “It’s okay Steve; you don’t have to share it.”

Steve opens his mouth, as if about to speak. But then he looks beyond her and his eyes darken to an unbelievable shade. Natasha thinks she might be petrified if that look were directed at her. “Will you excuse me for a minute, Nat?” he asks. 

She turns around, following his gaze. If she’s correct, then her eyes have fallen on a young woman. About her age if not a little younger, this woman has long blonde hair tied up in a large bun atop her head. Her face is set with a somewhat square jawline with an aquiline nose and cheeks that seemed to have missed the pubescent phase. Her face reminds her something of an adult baby. Her black glittery dress hugs her body like a second skin with a mermaid skirt and a plunging neckline. She’s stunning. 

“Who is she?” Natasha asks. 

“Somebody I used to know,” he replies distantly. He sweeps by her and meets the woman halfway. “What’re you doing here?” she hears him demand. 

The blonde smiles brightly, obviously unperturbed by Steve’s harsh question. “I’m here to support you, babe.”

Steve’s face darkens even further, if that’s even humanly possible. “Sharon, you have lost the right to call me that a long time ago. I want you to leave.”

“So you’re not even going to let me see your paintings?” asks Sharon, quirking an eyebrow. Natasha suspects that she is trying to be cute, but it’s obviously not working. “And who is this woman?”

Natasha realizes she is talking about her. She opens her mouth, but Steve answers for her. 

“She is my guest,” replies Steve. “That’s all you need to know. So for the last time, _get out_.”

Sharon looks from him to Natasha, back to him, and finally back to Natasha. Finally, she smirks. “I hope you can handle this man, lady,” she says. “He can be a little needy.” With that she walks away.

Natasha doesn’t know what to make of that warning. All she understands is the fact that Steve’s fists are balled so tight she worries that his nails will cut into his skin. She walks up beside Steve. “I don’t know what your history is with that woman and frankly I don’t care,” she says. It’s not entirely true; she would like to know more sometime, but she’s not going to force it out of him. “What do you do for fun?” she asks. 

Steve doesn’t do anything for so long that she thinks that he didn’t even hear her. But then he looks down at her and she inhales sharply. Every time she thinks she is growing used to his gaze, her body and soul betray her. She feels safe under his gaze, especially as a mischievous smile spreads across his face.

“Ma’am, you are going to regret asking me that question,” he warns.

“Color me excited,” challenges Natasha with a wiggle of her shoulders. 

“I might just take you literally on that.” 


	5. What Do You Do For Fun?

Natasha didn’t know what to expect when Steve told her she would regret asking him what he did for fun. She was truthful when she said she was excited. However, she is also a little nervous. She doesn’t know him very well. A part of her is screaming at her to call it quits for the evening and go straight home. 

She has already run off on him once. She might not know him very well, but it doesn’t take an expert to see how kind he is. Maybe it’s just a mental fantasy that she has already projected of Steve. Sure he’s sweet, reserved, a little shy, and yes, she can’t deny how stupidly handsome he is. But is it all just a fantasy? Is she setting herself up for disappointment? What if later on she finds out that Steve isn’t as honorable as he has appeared so far? 

No one’s perfect, as her rational mind keeps reminding her. Maybe she has spent too much time with Matt; perhaps his mind for law has rubbed off on her somewhat. Also, she just doesn’t have a good history of trusting men. It took her a long time to trust the guys in her life. It has taken her a long time to trust anyone in her life, really. At Salt & Pepper, she doesn’t have many friends. She has associates, people respect her and she them, but no friends really. She doesn’t have girls’ nights out. She doesn’t have people that she has game nights with. 

She is taking a leap of faith with Steve. It’s uncharted territory for her. They left the art gallery after Natasha retrieved her coat. As soon as they were outside, Natasha looked up at Steve then saw his arm. With a smile she accepted it and wrapped her hand around the crook of his arm. She couldn’t help noticing how warm he was. She felt more relaxed being so close to him.

“So where are we going?” she asks as they start walking along the street. 

“I haven’t decided yet,” replies Steve. 

Natasha cranes her neck to look up at the man’s face. He glances back with a mischievous smile. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to say that I regret asking you what you do for fun?”

Steve’s grin widens. “That, ma’am, is entirely up to you. I’m not in charge of what you say.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Is that an effort to make you look less than demanding?”

She almost regrets asking as Steve opens his mouth and starts stammering. She can’t help smiling up at him as he struggles to form an answer. Eventually he stops stammering and his brow furrows into a frown. 

“Are you making fun of me?” he asks.

“Maybe a little,” she replies. He looks a little hurt by her answer. She tries to come off as disarming with her smile, but it doesn’t seem to be working. He isn’t like most guys that she has met. One minute he seems all confident and the next, he is stumbling over his words. At least he isn’t stumbling over his own two feet. “You know, if you’re just trying to impress me with an air of confidence, you don’t have to. Just be yourself.”

Steve stops and stares down at her. He comes off as a man who has a clear idea of right and wrong, or at least tries to have a sense of right and wrong. Perhaps he has been interacting with her in the way that he feels is right. Now it looks like he doesn’t know how to proceed from here. 

Natasha repeats her earlier question. “What do you do for fun?”

She suppresses a sigh of relief as Steve relaxes a little. He sighs. “I suppose I was just trying to impress you when I said you’d regret asking me what I do for fun. It’s really not that impressive.”

“Are you really going to make me beg for an answer?” challenges Natasha. 

Then Steve does something that completely throws her off-guard. He rolls his eyes. “I like to go bowling. I buy season passes to Yankees games. I go paintballing.”

He had better not apologize for sounding like a normal human being. “And tonight?” she asks. 

“My sister and I were planning on ordering pizza while decided whether to watch a stupid romantic comedy or to play videogames,” confesses Steve. His cheeks grow redder with every word. 

“You like rom-coms?” asks Natasha, unable to help herself. 

“Hey some rom-coms are actually pretty good!” exclaims Steve, sounding unusually defensive. “But really it’s Wanda who is the fan of romantic comedies. They just rubbed off on me.”

“Uh-huh,” grunts Natasha. “So, you won’t mind if I crash your little pizza party?” she asks with a quirk of her brow. 

“I suppose a more one-on-one date can wait,” says Steve. He turns towards the street and hails a cab. A moment later, a cab pulls up the curb. He opens the door. “After you, ma’am.”

Natasha groans as she steps into the car. “I wish you’d stop calling me ‘ma’am’. It makes me feel like an old woman.”

Steve chuckles. A second later, he enters the cab from the other side. Steve tells the cabby their building and then they are off. On the way to their apartment building, Natasha finds herself observing Steve. He never once looks her way. At first, she worries that it’s mere disinterest, but the more she watches him, the more she sees. He isn’t ignoring her. She watches his eyes. It’s not an easy feat at this angle, but what she can see is beautiful.

Not an hour ago, she found out that he is an artist. Now that she is aware, she thinks she is starting to see just how true that is. His eyes are taking in every minute detail. For a second, she wonders what it would be like if that gaze was directed at her. The mere idea of it sends a wild thrill down her spine. She also wonders if he simply doesn’t like having a conversation with someone in the back of a taxicab. In fairness, she acknowledges that it’s not the most private of places. Even if the cabby isn’t a nosey individual, it’s likely that Steve would still feel uncomfortable. 

One way that she suspects that _she_ isn’t causing discomfort is the rest of his body language. There’s a whole middle seat between them, but he seems relaxed. She doesn’t spot much tension in his shoulders, if any. Plus, he doesn’t seem to be putting as much distance between them as he can. There is a little distance between them, but it seems more relaxed. It might be that he is simply respecting her space. 

Once or twice, she finds herself hoping that he would cut into her space a little bit. At least she would not have to keep wondering what the feel of him is like. She figures that it’s best not to point it out, but the longer they spend together, the more she sees just how shy he is. 

A part of her wants to touch him, just to show him some intimacy. The rational part of her thinks that that might be too forward, or that he would consider it too forward. So she restrains herself. Most men have thrown themselves at her. Many of them seem to notice her butt or her breasts before they notice anything else about her. Not Steve. When they first met in that hallway, he immediately looked her in the eye. If he noticed her other attributes along the way, he hasn’t been very obvious or lewd about it. It’s refreshing and somehow she feels a little more beautiful because of it.

“Stop here,” says Steve.

Natasha is pulled from her thoughts as the cab comes to a stop. She frowns as she looks out the window. “Steve, we’re still a couple of blocks away from the building.”

“I know,” says Steve, shooting her a devious grin. He pays the cabby and gets out of the cab. She watches him as he comes around and opens the door for her. He offers his hand. 

She looks at his proffered hand. Then back up at his eyes. “You’re a very rare gentleman, you know that?” 

“Then I’ve made my mother proud,” says Steve, with a wistful smile. That’s interesting. 

She takes his hand and he helps her out of the taxi. She watches it as it drives away. “So do you want to tell me why we’ve stopped here?” Steve doesn’t answer her immediately. “Oh…” she gasps as she feels his hands grasp her shoulders. She looks down at one of them and for a minute she regrets the fact that she’s wearing her coat. Already, her shoulders feel like they are on fire, slowly spreading down her body to her arms and her chest. He gently steers her around until she is facing the wall of shops on stretching down the length of the sidewalk.

“What am I looking at?” she asks. 

“I hope you have a sweet tooth,” says Steve as he points out the shop. It’s an ice cream shop. 

“ _Cônes et Crème_?” asks Natasha, reading the neon letters with an ice cream cone between the words. 

“It’s doesn’t beat any of the ice cream shops in the neighborhood I grew up in Brooklyn, but it’s the best ice cream place within a three-block radius of our apartment building,” explains Steve. “So, do you want a cone?”

A smile spreads across Natasha’s face. “Yeah, I’ll have a cone.”

Steve smiles back and he leads her into the shop. She is quickly growing used to his gentlemanly behavior as he opens the door for her and lets her walk in first. 

Immediately, she feels a slight chill as is emblematic of ice cream shops. The place has a checkered floor and small round tables with cushioned chairs. Each table has the same logo as in on the front of the shop. There’s a table of sweets that Natasha is certain are trademarked by the shop. There are even a few teddy bears wearing shirts with the shop’s logo on it. She imagines they are popular with children. Behind the register and counter, the flavors are in English and French. Lucky for her, she is fluent in French, among other languages. 

“Ah, Monsieur Steve!” says a cheerful, yet thickly accented voice from behind the counter. Natasha’s eyes fall on an older fellow, probably sixty or almost sixty. The sides of his hair are very silver with the blackness of the top of his hair sprinkled with just a little more silver. He seems well-fit for an older gentleman. If anything, the years look kind to him. 

“Monsieur Jacques, _comment allez-vous_?” asks Steve. 

_So he speaks French_ , Natasha marvels silently. 

“I am doing well,” replies Monsieur Jacques. He then notices Natasha for the first time and he narrows his eyes. “Ah, and who is the lovely mademoiselle on your arm?” He leaves the counter and comes up to meet Natasha. 

“ _I’m Natasha_ , _it’s nice to meet you_ ,” says Natasha in perfect French. 

Monsieur Jacques laughs heartily as he takes her hand and kisses the back of it. “ _Where did you find such a specimen_?” he asks.

“She recently moved into my building,” replies Steve, in English. Natasha watches him and almost giggles as his face grows redder and redder. 

“And now you’re having an evening out with her,” marvels Monsieur Jacques. He chuckles merrily and then clears his throat. “Now, my dear, what can do for you? And please don’t ask for French vanilla,” he adds jokingly.

Natasha indulges in his humor with a brief laugh. “Do you have chocolate chip cookie dough?” she asks. She studies the menu for a moment. “And I think I’ll also take a scoop of that dark chocolate. Also I’d like a bowl.” She usually prefers cones, but she doesn’t want to risk dripping ice cream on this dress. 

Monsieur Jacques beams at her as one of his staff starts scooping out her ice cream. “Coming right up and anything for you, Steve?”

“Just the usual,” says Steve. Natasha watches closely to see what exactly his “usual” is. His usual turns out to be a scoop of peanut butter ice cream and a scoop of raspberry sorbet in a chocolate-dipped waffle cone. Steve pays Monsieur Jacques with a sincere, “ _Merci_.” 

“Anytime,” replies Monsieur Jacque with a big smile. He flicks his eyes to Natasha and back to Steve. He shakes his head with a laugh as he walks away and disappears behind the door.

“He seems nice,” says Natasha as they head out the door. She takes a generous spoonful of her ice cream and lets her mouth absorb the taste as she puts it in her mouth. Her eyes roll back into her head at the sweet taste of it. She also appreciates how _cold_ it is. It’s always nicer when an ice cream joint actually serves frozen ice cream. 

“He is a good man,” agrees Steve. “I’ve known him since I was a kid growing up in Brooklyn. My mother would sometimes take a trip to Manhattan just to get us a couple of pints of his ice cream.” There is that wistful smile again as he mentions his mother. That wistful smile quickly morphs into a gentle smirk. “Go ahead,” he invites.

Natasha pauses with a bite of ice cream halfway to her mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ask me about my mother,” says Steve. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you giving me a strange look every time I mention her.”

“That’s funny; here I was thinking you were the one who had a strange look every time _you_ mentioned your mother,” Natasha counters with a smirk. He looks a little hurt by her comment and she almost regrets saying it. “Okay, fine. Tell me about your mother. What is she like?”

Steve smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He turns his gaze away from her as they walk down the street towards their apartment building. “She was a nurse, working in an oncology ward. She wasn’t an outstanding cook—she managed to burn a can of tomato soup if you didn’t monitor her. She could be awfully strict sometimes, but she also had an easy sense of humor once you got to know her. I had really bad asthma growing up, plus I probably spent more time being sick than healthy, but I managed to do Little League. She never missed one of my baseball games. In fact, sometimes she would even take me to the occasional Yankees game. But she knew my real passion was for art. 

“I was often overlooked because I was small, frail, and sick all the time. Even my art teachers overlooked me. One teacher even thought I was lying when I said that a certain painting was mine. If it weren’t for my mother, I probably would have given up on painting a long time ago.”

She sounds like a woman that Natasha could easily get along with. However, she can’t help noticing a small detail. “You keep talking about her in the past-tense,” she observes. Comprehension dawns on her and suddenly her ice cream tastes very bitter. “Is she…?”

Steve looks away. He is probably not used to saying it. “Yes she is.”

“When?”

“A long time ago,” says Steve. “I was eighteen and Wanda was thirteen. Our mom was in a car accident with our brother, Pietro—who was also Wanda’s twin.” He chuckles bitterly. “The real kicker is that our mother was already dying from a tumor in her lungs. They were coming back from Pietro’s track meet when their cab was plowed by a semi running a red light.”

Natasha doesn’t know what to say to that. “That’s horrible,” she breathes. She really wants to drop the rest of her ice cream and wrap her arms around him, but she’s not sure if he’s ready for that kind of gesture. Plus she is getting the feeling that he is enjoying her company. In a way, she feels a sense of warmth at the idea. To not be an annoyance in someone’s company is a great, though unfamiliar feeling for her. And it could be that she is still trying to figure out what exactly being a friend entails. “I’m so sorry.”

Steve doesn’t meet her eyes. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

She imagines that he is tired of hearing people say that they are sorry. His sister, Wanda, probably is too. 

“Well, I’m sure that you’ve made her and your brother proud,” she blurts out.

Now Steve meets her eyes. “Have I?” he asks quietly. “It’s a question I’ve asked myself every day of my life. After they died, it was just Wanda and I. I was graduating high school with a full scholarship to one of the most prestigious art schools in the city. But all of the sudden I had a thirteen-year-old sister. I was legally an adult and I would’ve died before she was put in the system. So I turned down my scholarship in favor of taking care of Wanda. I still wonder if our mother rolled over in her grave because of it.”

“You seem to be a very successful artist now,” observes Natasha. “Did you ever end up going to art school?”

“Eventually,” replies Steve as they reach the entrance to their apartment building. “Even though I was taking care of Wanda, I never stopped painting. For a year, after our mother and brother died, I didn’t paint at all. But somehow, someway, I found the inspiration to paint again.”

“What inspired you to paint again?” asks Natasha as they head inside. 

Steve sighs as they head to the elevator. He swipes his keycard and the elevator begins its ascent to the penthouse. “I think there was just this one day that I found myself looking through my mother’s jewelry. I was looking for things to get rid of, mostly her clothes which ended up going to good will, but when I got to her jewelry, things just…” he trails off. “I never actually talked about this before. Not even with Wanda.”

Natasha looks away, feeling she might be overstepping her bounds. “It’s okay; you don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

“No, this actually feels nice,” Steve assures her. “I got to my mother’s jewelry and all I could think about were my good memories of her. Admittedly, a number of them had me crying, but I was smiling. Before long, I found myself brushing a bit of dust off my art supplies and I was just painting. I ended up channeling my grief at losing my family into my art. Not long after that, I was selling my art at galleries and the occasional art festival, state fair, and flea market. By the time Wanda had graduated with a full ride to Julliard, I already had a reputation as an artist in the city. I was approached many times over the years with scholarships and commissions. Suddenly I had no reason to turn anyone down.

“I ended up going to art school and I graduated among the top of my class.”

Natasha is smiling throughout his little story. “Do you ever regret not having gone to art school earlier?”

Steve finally smiles, genuinely as he meets her eyes. The elevator dings as it reaches the top floor. “Not for a minute. Wanda and I’s only regrets are that our mother and brother didn’t get to see us achieve our dreams.”

The doors open, but Natasha would love to tell him that she is sure his family is more than proud of them. That thought is immediately interrupted by some loud greetings. The first to greet them is the puppy, Dodger, who charges up to Steve with his fluffy tail wagging madly. Steve laughs as he stoops down to greet his puppy. 

“Hey, Steve, we were wondering when you’d get home!” says Wanda. Natasha sees her immediately. Just as quickly she feels overdressed in her cocktail dress as she registers Wanda’s grey ‘I heart NY’ zip-up hoodie over a red tank top and track shorts showing off most of her legs. She’s also wearing some black slippers which look an awful lot more comfortable than Natasha’s stilettos. Her hair is also pulled back in a haphazard bun.

Suddenly Natasha realizes that Wanda is looking directly at her.

“Steve…” she exclaims something that Natasha recognizes as a Slavic dialect. Sokovian, maybe? “You didn’t say you’d be bringing home a date!” 

Steve looks up from Dodger and says something in that same dialect, sounding a little defensive. Natasha is fluent in many languages, but this is one language she does not know very well. “Is there anybody else here?”

As if in answer, Natasha hears a toilet flush. Not long after that she sees someone emerge. It’s Bucky. He looks as dressed down as Wanda wearing a T-shirt and jeans, but barefoot. “Hey, Steve!” he greets. He meets Natasha’s gaze. “Um, it’s Natalie, right?”

“Natasha,” she corrects him patiently. She studies him thoughtfully. He looks a little flustered, not from embarrassment, but more from…excursion? She then looks at Wanda and now she notices that she also looks similarly flustered. Now she wonders if she and Steve might have interrupted something. Steve doesn’t seem to notice. 

Instead, he seems more focused on her. She meets his gaze and that same nervous feeling she felt when he first welcomed her to his home has come back.

“I didn’t realize I was inviting anyone over either,” he says, still looking at Natasha.

“Uh-huh,” grunts Wanda, sounding very disbelieving. Natasha turns to face her as the younger woman walks up to her. Natasha almost feels exposed as Wanda looks her up and down. “I know I said this already, but that dress really is amazing.”

Natasha blushes at her compliment. She is saved from having to look at Wanda as Dodger turns his attention on her. She stoops down and strokes the adorable animal behind the ears. He whines appreciatively at her touch. “Thank you, I made it,” she says, but then regrets it. She didn’t mean to share that. 

Wanda’s smile deepens. “Wow, you made this?”

Natasha suppresses the urge to sigh or roll her eyes. “I did.”

“You’re so talented!” Wanda gushes.

After having some of her designs rejected by Ms. Potts, it actually feels wonderful to have something she made be admired so enthusiastically. She put a lot of effort into this dress. Admittedly, she might have been trying solely to impress Steve, but hearing praise from more than one person feels very nice. She decides to change the subject. “So, I asked Steve what he likes to do for fun,” she explains. “Then he told me that I’d regret asking him that question.”

The effect is almost immediately. Bucky and Wanda burst into fits of laughter. Natasha looks at Steve and upon seeing his face turn bright red, she can’t help laughing either. 

“Did he tell you what he likes to do for fun?” Wanda eventually asks. 

“He mentioned something about bowling, Yankees games, and paintballing,” replies Natasha. 

All humor disappears from Wanda’s face as she puts her hands on her hips. “Stevie, is that really all you told her?”

If it was ever possible, Steve’s face turns even redder. He almost reminds Natasha of a firetruck. “I thought you promised not to call me ‘Stevie’ in public, or among guests.” 

Wanda rolls her eyes. “Natasha, you have our permission to call him ‘Stevie’ as much as you want.”

Natasha blinks rapidly. “I don’t want to…”

“Come on, give it a try,” encourages Bucky as he comes to stand next to Wanda.

“Stevie,” Natasha blurts out. Then she yelps as she sees something fly over her head towards Bucky and Wanda. It was just a throw pillow. 

“Can’t I be in my own house without being embarrassed?” Steve whines. No one says anything this time. He sighs and then slumps down onto a couch. Dodger takes the opportunity to hop up onto the couch and starts licking Steve’s face. He pets the puppy absentmindedly. 

Natasha sighs as she goes over to sit next to him. As she does, Dodger quickly loses interest in his master and starts to offer her attention. 

“Dodger, you’ll ruin her dress!” protests Steve, but Natasha stops him.

“Relax, Steve,” she says disarmingly. “Besides I’m still wearing a coat.”

“I have something you can change into, if you want,” Wanda offers.

Natasha looks up at the brunette. She looks her over thoughtfully. Wanda is taller than her, but her bust is a little smaller. But the height might lessen the possibility of whatever she offers being too tight around her chest. Plus, she really would like to not have this dress ruined. “I’d appreciate that.” Then she turns her attention back to Steve. “So, Steve, what _else_ do you like to do for fun?”

Steve doesn’t meet her eyes as his face turns that bright shade of scarlet again. “How do you feel about a game of twister?”


	6. A Night of Fun

The spinner spins and then stops. “Okay, Natasha, left foot, green circle,” says Wanda.

Natasha laughs nervously. Her right foot is on the outermost yellow circle, her right hand is on the second red circle, her left hand is on the third blue circle, and her left foot was already on the yellow circle in front of her right foot. Carefully, she moves her left foot onto the closest green circle. Now her feet are crossed. She used to be a ballerina. Balance and control of her body is nothing new to her. Still, twister has a way of twisting you up until you’re unbalanced. 

At least Natasha doesn’t have to worry about ruining her dress. Wanda had offered her T-shirt and sweatpants. As she has thought, the shirt is a little big on her, but is also tighter around the chest. She didn’t wear a bra with her dress, so she chose to wear a hoodie over the T-shirt. As for the sweatpants, she actually likes the little slack and the way that they fit over her feet.

If only Steve was half as balanced as she is. On his side of the twister mat, he has his left foot on the outermost green circle, his right foot is on the third red circle, his left hand is on the second blue circle, and his right hand is on the fourth yellow circle. If he wasn’t trembling like a leaf, Natasha would be impressed.

“Bucky, remind me why you aren’t participating?” asks Steve, straining. 

Natasha cranes her neck to look at the man. He clears his throat. “Um, I’m just not sure all three of us would fit.”

“Oh, shut up, James,” laughs Wanda. “Steve…” she starts saying something in Sokovian. Whatever she says makes Bucky laugh, but Steve looks scandalized. 

“That’s not true!” he protests. 

He and Wanda start going back and forth in Sokovian again. All the while, Bucky is stifling his laughter from behind the tips of his fingers. These spats must happen a lot. They must also be harmless if they provoke laughter out of someone like Bucky instead of fear or discomfort. 

Natasha’s only discomfort is the fact that she doesn’t understand the language. Plus, she’s still holding her pose which is growing increasingly uncomfortable. She clears her throat. “Excuse me?”

“What?” Steve and Wanda snap in unison.

Natasha gulps and then takes a deep breath as she strains in her pose. “Can you please just spin the spinner again?”

Wanda tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and clears her throat. “Okay, okay, right,” she says. She spins the spinner. When it comes to a stop she smirks. “Okay, Steve, you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” grunts Steve. 

“Left hand, green circle,” says Wanda. 

Steve moans as he tries to move his hand. He loses his balance and falls forward. Natasha’s humor is cut short as his body hits her arms and she too loses her balance. She lets out a yelp as she falls, landing on top of Steve. 

He lets out a little _oof_ as she lands on him. Landing on the ground must work quite nicely for Dodger, as the puppy runs up and starts licking Steve’s ear. 

“Oh, Dodger not the ears!” moans Steve. “And Natasha, could you please get off of me?”

Now that he says something, Natasha is now hyperaware of the fact that her clothed breasts are pressed against the back of his head. She lifts herself off of him. 

Steve doesn’t move for a moment or two. He grumbles. “Maybe twister wasn’t such a bright idea.” 

“Oh, Steve, you were having fun!” protests Wanda. “Quit being such a grouch.”

Steve inhales sharply, then swallows down whatever he is about to say. He rolls over onto his back. “Has anyone ordered the pizza yet?” he asks. 

“I’ll order it right now,” volunteers Bucky. He pulls out his phone starts ordering the pizzas.

Steve doesn’t move from his spot on the ground. Dodger doesn’t seem to mind as he sits down next to him. The puppy licks his nose appreciatively as Steve strokes him behind the ears. He stares aimlessly at the ceiling. 

“Why so stressed out all of the sudden?” asks Wanda, voicing Natasha’s thoughts.

Steve sighs. “Sharon was at the art gallery.”

Wanda’s look of concern does not change, but Natasha feels that the atmosphere in the room has turned a little colder. Perhaps there is a lot more negative history there than she thought. Has spending time with him only served as a distraction to some wound that might have reopened? If so, it must have been a lousy one.

“What’d she want?” asks Wanda.

Steve puts a hand over his face. “To look at art, I’m sure,” he says dismissively. 

Wanda disappears into kitchen. “Why now?” she says. “Natasha, you want anything to drink?”

“I’ll have a…” she wants to ask for vodka, but then she remembers that she still has designs to work on this weekend. She works best with a clear head. “I’ll have a Dr. Pepper, if you haven’t any.”

Wanda laughs. “Yeah we have that.” She comes back out of the kitchen with a beer for herself and a bottle of Dr. Pepper for Natasha.

Bucky gets off his phone and comes back in the room. “Our pizza will be here in a half hour tops.” 

Steve and Wanda moan appreciatively. The room falls into a bit of silence as Bucky plops down on the couch and turns on the television. He accesses Netflix and starts sifting through the movies and TV shows. Steve soon rises from his position on the ground with a groan. He doesn’t join Bucky or Wanda, who has also sat down on the couch. Instead, he goes out onto the deck and sits down on lounge chair by the pool. Even from here, Natasha can see how the light from the pool illuminates his features.

What does a woman do to a man to make him this miserable after seeing her for a only a few minutes? How deeply did she hurt him? 

Without giving it much thought, she gets up and walks outside. She welcomes the humid air. The heated pool offers a small bit of heat to counteract the crispness of the night chill. This building might be a residential high-rise, but she can hear the drone of traffic down below. Up here, the skyline of the city is so magnificent. It makes for a view of the stars above quite difficult. But even without the stars above, the city is a beautiful sight.

For an artist such as Steve Rogers, she suspects that the city proves to be a consistent muse for him. Her own love for this city offers her plenty of inspiration when it comes to the clothes she designs. 

“It’s a lovely view, isn’t it?”

Natasha comes out of her thoughts and looks at Steve. His eyes are fixed on her. “Yeah, it is beautiful,” she says. “Up here, everything seems so simply, so distant, so…”

“Peaceful?” Steve finishes. 

A smile finds its way into Natasha’s features. “Exactly.” 

Steve looks away again towards the pool. The changing colors within the pool illuminate his features, the movement of the water dancing in his eyes. His eyes, normally so blue, seem to reflect every color of the swimming pool. In some weird way, each color the pool changes to offers a different shade of his soul. It may as well have been laid bare before her. 

“If you’re starting to regret joining me this evening, I’ll understand,” he says eventually, not taking his eyes off the pool.

“No!” protests Natasha. “I…” she halts, suddenly not knowing what to say. How does she feel? Steve, his sister, and their friend, Bucky, have been more company than she has had in the longest time. Steve might be a bit more miserable than she had originally thought, especially compared to their first meeting, but… “I’m enjoying your company,” she eventually says. 

“But I’m assuming that by now, I’ve yet again provoked your curiosity?” asks Steve.

“Guilty,” admits Natasha.

“What do you want to ask me now?”

“Could you tell me about Sharon?”

Steve readjusts himself in his chair so that he can face Natasha. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” he says. “I met her a few years back while I was still at college. She was a nursing school student and we met while I was at one of Wanda’s first symphony concerts. I was so proud of Wanda,” he says, smiling brightly. “It was her first concert solo and she was so nervous. She was worried her stage fright would get the better of her, but in the end, it didn’t matter. She did it perfectly. Afterwards, we celebrated at her favorite restaurant. That’s where I met Sharon.” He laughs at the memory. “It wasn’t a pretty meeting either. Wanda was getting up to go to the bathroom and she bumped into Sharon. Sharon was carrying a couple of drinks and they spilled all over her. She wore a cream-colored dress and it was stained red.”

“You seem to have a habit of meeting people under dramatic circumstances, don’t you?” teases Natasha. 

Steve laughs as he leans back on the chair, staring up at the sky. “Yes, I suppose so,” he agrees. “But it was Dodger who introduced me to you.”

It’s Natasha’s turn to laugh. “That’s true. He’s a good puppy.”

“I’m hope so,” says Steve. “Wanda and I have been training him to be a good boy. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have met you.” He finally turns to her and smiles. 

Natasha has to look away before she blushes. “You can be charming when you want to be.” She tries to steer the conversation back on track. “So what happened after Wanda bumped into Sharon?”

“I made myself look silly by apologized profusely for all of five minute before Sharon stopped me,” replies Steve. “She told me she could forgive us for her ruined dress if I bought her a drink. It seemed silly to buy her a drink after she just spilled a couple, but I bought her a drink anyway. She talked, and I talked back. Eventually she told me that my debt to her wasn’t quite paid yet. I next owed her a date.”

“Sounds like indentured service,” says Natasha.

Steve laughs again. Natasha is beginning to enjoy the sound of his laugh. “I suppose so. One date became two dates, which then became a beautiful relationship. So I thought for quite some time.”

“So what went wrong?”

“I went wrong,” says Steve, no longer laughing. He looks away again. “I was inexperienced in relationships, so maybe I didn’t give her as much space as she needed. I thought I was being kind, I thought I was treating her well, but I guess it wasn’t enough. Plus, Wanda got very sick at one point and I relied on Sharon to help me take care of her. Sharon did help me take care of her for a while. But I guess I started focusing on my sister more than her. When I did offer Sharon attention, maybe I overcompensated. Maybe I had it coming once I found out that she was cheating on me.”

Natasha gapes at that and sits bolt upright. “Wait, she _cheated on you_?” she repeats.

“She found somebody who gave her what I couldn’t seem to offer,” says Steve, sounding like it’s something that he had spent too much time mulling over. “She found somebody she was happy with. But I guess it wasn’t meant to be with me. It was five years ago and I haven’t been on a date since.”

“That bitch!” blurts out Natasha. As soon as she says it, to her surprise, she does not regret it. Steve gives her a funny look. “What?”

“You impress me, Natasha Romanov,” says Steve.

Natasha allows herself a smile at the comment. “Should I not have called her a bitch?”

“No, that’s not it,” Steve assures quickly. “It’s just you said what I’ve been thinking for so long but have never been able to say out loud.” He starts laughing. Natasha loves hearing him laugh. At least she got him laughing. She considers that a win.

“Give it a try,” she says. 

Steve stops laughing for a moment. “I’m sorry?”

Natasha sits up and grins down at Steve. “Try calling her a bitch out loud.”

Steve stammers for a minute, but then clears his throat. “B-b-buh…” he stammers. 

Natasha’s grin widens. “Bitch,” she enunciates.

Steve clears his throat. “Bitch,” he says nearly inaudibly.

“Can you try saying it a little louder?”

Steve looks her hard in the eye. “Sharon was a bitch to me,” he says clearly. “Plain and simple, she was an absolute bitch and it hurt for a long time.”

Natasha wants to feel proud, but she keeps her feelings in check. It’s clear that he is still healing from this bad breakup. She would argue, however, that insulting Sharon out loud has helped him heal just a little bit more.

“Steve, get up,” she says, feeling reckless.

“I beg your pardon?” says Steve, frowning.

“Get up,” she repeats, standing up herself. 

Steve throws his arms up in confusion, but he stands anyway. As soon as he does, Natasha shoves him hard. He stumbles and then falls into the swimming pool with a yelp. His head resurfaces a moment later, his breath sputtering as his eyes land on Natasha. 

Natasha covers her mouth, giggling. “Now _that_ was fun.” He throws his arm back and then splashes her ferociously. She yelps playfully she gets hit by water. She doesn’t even try to dive for cover as she gets plenty wet. “I yield!” she says, laughing. 

Steve stops splashing her and laughs up at her. “You know you owe me a proper date for this, right?” he says.

“Is that a threat?” challenges Natasha, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Steve smiles up at her as he treads the water. “If you want it to be,” he challenges back. “So, what do you say?”

“Dinner next weekend,” says Natasha. 

“Deal,” Steve reaches out of the water with one hand. 

Natasha reaches down and grasps it, intending to shake it. It was a bad move. As soon as Steve gets ahold of her hand, he yanks her into the water with him. She shrieks as her head resurfaces from the water. She starts shouting angry words in Russian, smacking the water like a child having a tantrum, but she is laughing.

Steve gets out of the pool. “Goodnight, Natasha,” he says. “I do hope you found inspiration and I look forward to seeing your designs. We never did get around to talking about your designs, so we’ll have to do that next time.”

Natasha watches him until he disappears inside. She stays in the water for a few moments, just enjoying herself. When was the last time she had that much fun? 

She’s definitely getting out her sketchpad and sewing machine when she gets home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to update this story. Or any of my stories really. Lately it's become harder and harder for me to write, but I hope you will all bare with me. And please let me know what you thought.


	7. The Spider and the Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Please enjoy and review. :D

When Monday came, Natasha once again found herself in Pepper’s office. Once again, Pepper looked at her new designs. Natasha thought she might have been more excited about these new designs than she was about the last batch. She doesn’t hate any of them, but this time she had found a new sense of inspiration.

Her thoughts still resonated with her night with Steve Rogers and his friends and family. She had not had that much fun in…well she couldn’t remember how long. She didn’t really have any friends and in one night she gained not one, but _four_ new friends. And they only live a few floors up from her, so that is very convenient. Wanda was the one who told her that she was welcome anytime unless one of them called and said they would be unavailable.

And there was Steve. The rest of the weekend, she couldn’t stop thinking about that man. She met him under dramatic circumstances, met his dramatic circle of friends, and then she went to an art gallery where she found out he was an artist—and a good one at that. That same evening was finished off having a fun time at his penthouse.

She can’t remember being so intrigued by a man. Matt was certainly intriguing and he was—and still is—one of the best men she’s ever known, but Steve? She has only known the man for a few days and she can’t even think clearly around him. She wants to know all about him. He has piqued her curiosity and has made her feel at home quicker than anyone ever did. 

After returning to her apartment, Natasha spent the rest of the night drawing up new designs. As is a common occurrence for her when she is drawing new designs, she woke up in the morning at her worktable. At least that time she didn’t have a puddle of drool on one of her designs. It is so stressful when she has to redraw a design. The worst part about redrawing a new design is that no matter how hard she tries, she can never seem to get it to look like an exact copy as the original. So it’s a hit-or-miss if the new copy is better or worse than the previous draft. 

Even after spending a whole night of drawing up new designs, she was still drawing up designs. In fact, she forgot all about breakfast. It wasn’t until evening that she remembered to eat. It wasn’t the first time that she had forgotten to eat while coming up with designs or sewing new clothes. Speaking of which, with new designs, she needed new materials. As much as she wanted to go to the fabric store, she had to be careful. If Pepper didn’t approve of her designs then she didn’t need to waste her money. 

That’s not to say that she lets Pepper’s disapproval stop her from making what she wants. Natasha still designs a lot of her own clothes when she is able to. But somehow, for some reason, she has never worn any of the blouses she had designed to work. She needed this job, so she didn’t need to walk around looking to be a competitor. 

When it came time to choose what to show to Pepper, she had to choose carefully. Pepper didn’t like that she added her own touch to what she presented last. Natasha couldn’t help feeling that a number of her designs were incomplete without her hourglass design. But as Pepper clearly stated, these designs were for Salt & Pepper. Eventually, Natasha was able to decide on a few things to show her.

As per usual with Pepper, she looked through the designs wordlessly. Natasha can’t even read the woman’s face as she looks through each of her designs. At least, she can’t tell if she likes them or not anyway. What she _can_ tell is that she seems to be scrutinizing each design, going over every infinitesimal detail. The longer she looks at each design, the more Natasha forgets to let go of her breath. If nothing else, these meetings are good exercise to see how long she can hold her breath.

Natasha tries to distract herself by looking around the room. It’s not a nice day out. The whole day has been cloudy and right now there is a heavy downpour with an occasional crack of thunder. The window behind Pepper is constantly pelted by the patter of rain. The room is not very well lit, so Pepper sits in front of Natasha like a dark silhouette topped with carefully groomed strawberry blonde hair. Speaking of strawberries, there was a box of strawberries on her desk. 

Why would she have a box of strawberries on her desk? Everyone knows that there is one thing that Pepper Potts is allergic to and that is strawberries. She had not eaten any of them. Otherwise, they would have had to call an ambulance. Then Natasha sees the writing on the box. Having been in the office a few times, she knows Tony Stark’s handwriting very well. Is he aware of her strawberry allergy?

“Romanov, are you listening?”

Natasha shakes her head and snaps to attention. She sits up straighter. “Pardon me, Ms. Potts, what did you say?” she asks, fighting back her embarrassment. 

Pepper laughs softly. “I was asking if you have any more designs like these.”

Natasha’s eyes widen. Did she just hear her correctly? “I…I…” she clears her throat. “Yes, in fact, I do,” she replies. “Why do you ask?”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Fashion Week is next month,” explains Pepper, setting the portfolio down on her desk. “I would like to see these designs there and more. Do you think you can have all these designs ready by then?”

Natasha fights to maintain her composure. “I can have several designs ready for you by then,” she says confidently. 

“Excellent,” says Pepper. She stands up and Natasha takes that as permission to stand up as well. Pepper grabs her portfolio before walking around her desk and handing it to Natasha. “I look forward to seeing how these designs turn out. Have a good day.” Pepper signals for her to leave her office.

Natasha smiles as she takes her portfolio. “Thank you so much,” she says and leaves it at that. She doesn’t need to spaz out. She leaves the office and heads to the elevator. Once the door closes behind her, she finally lets herself squeal out her excitement. But then she stops abruptly as the doors open again and straightens up just before she is seen. She heads to her office and slumps down onto her swivel chair. She spins around and around happily. 

It might not have been the designs she would have _liked_ to show to Pepper, but she was still proud of them. The fashion show is in three weeks. She is going to be quite busy during that time period. She has materials she needs to buy. Her sewing machine broke over the weekend and she needs to replace that too. She has had that sewing machine for so long. Now the foot pedal has shorted out. Is it time to simply trade it in for a new one? Her salary has increased, but she still needs to make a list of all the materials she needs. Everything she needs is going to have to be out of pocket. 

She looks at the clock. It’s just about the end of her day. She still has a lot of paperwork to finish up. There’s a phone call she has to make to Michael Kors. It’s long been rumored that Pepper Potts had a bad date with Michael Kors. She hates the man. She hates him so much that she has this evil eye when she sees someone wearing anything of Michael Kors. 

That really sucks because Natasha really likes Michael Kors. She loves Michael Kors. Her favorite purse is a Michael Kors. She doesn’t waste too much money on trying to keep up with fashion trends. That could change given her new salary, but she’s not itching to go shopping. That will have to wait until she gets her dresses made. That’s going to take some time. 

She makes the call to Michael Kors. Pepper might not like Michael Kors, but every so often Salt & Pepper does business with them. Natasha’s new elevated position involves negotiating deals between the company and other companies. 

The one who answers the phone is a man named Austin. He’s a good friend and even though they work for rival fashion companies, they are able to keep their relationship cordial. Fashion, for them anyway, isn’t really an easy ground for trash talk between rivals. That’s more appropriate for game nights. 

The phone call doesn’t last long. All she needs to do is figure out the proceedings for a fashion party that is set for the following weekend. Natasha is grateful that she doesn’t have to be a part of setting up the actual event. She isn’t even sure she is invited. Even if she was, she worries she might be too busy to be a part of the event. If she is, she might RSVP for it, but until then, the party is the last thing on her mind. 

As soon as the call is over, she finishes up her paperwork and then heads out. She doesn’t even realize how late it is by the time she is ready to head home. It’s after seven and she normally leaves at five o’clock sharp. Perhaps she can grab some takeout on her way home. Then she can find a movie to watch on Netflix. She could even watch _Breaking Bad_ all over again. Indian takeout and Netflix are always a great way to spend an evening undisturbed.

She shuts down her computer and heads out of the building. The bright side is that the worst part of rush hour is over. She calls for a cab and directs it to an Indian restaurant within walking distance from her building. Once she gets there, she orders herself lamb curry and naan. She has plenty of drinks to choose from at home, so she doesn’t order anything. Vodka, Dr. Pepper, milk, water, orange juice…she can save herself the price of a twenty-ounce drink. After she orders her food, she heads to her building. On her way to the elevator, she sees Wanda heading to her private elevator. 

“Natasha!”

“Oh, crap,” says Natasha. She turns around and sees Wanda. She’s wearing a Dior biker jacket and matching calfskin high-heeled boots. Her long brown hair hangs around her shoulder in a long rippled curtain. She’s carrying shopping bags, the outermost bag with a Louis Vuitton logo on it. Another is distinctively a violin case. Perhaps she had a concert rehearsal and decided to do some shopping on the way home? 

Natasha watches as Wanda rushes towards her. “How was your day?” ask Wanda, taking off her red-tinted shades. The sunglasses remind Natasha fondly of Matt. 

She smiles. “Busy,” she says. It a short answer, but it’s an honest answer. She had been working all weekend into Monday. “How about you, how was your day?”

Wanda exhales a puff of air. “My orchestra conductor is relentless,” she explains. “Are you familiar with Vivaldi’s _Four Seasons_?”

“I’m familiar,” replies Natasha. 

“Well, I have front seat and before you congratulate me, let me tell you our conductor is…” she trails off. “He had us go from top to bottom three times. And that’s just counting the times that we made it through without fail.” She looks at her fingertips. “I might have to put my plucking hand in ice.”

Natasha smiles at the younger woman. “Well you have front seat, so yeah, I am going to congratulate you.”

Wanda blushes. Her eyes fall upon Natasha’s takeout. “Oh, look at me, your dinner must be getting cold and I’m keeping you down here in the lobby. Well, I’ll see you later.” She turns around and heads for her elevator. 

“Wanda, do you want to come over later?” Natasha asks before she can stop herself. 

Wanda stops and turns around.

“I’m not sure I have enough here to share, but unless you have other plans—”

“No, I’d love to,” Wanda interrupts. “I have to drop off all this stuff in the penthouse, but yeah, I should be over in a half hour.” She then turns around for the last time and heads into the elevator. Natasha watches until the doors close behind her. 

She laughs softly. Then she remembers her apartment is a mess. She has fabrics and crumpled up pieces of paper all over the place. Almost all of them are discarded depictions of designs that didn’t make it into the trashcan. She heads to an elevator and selects her floor. As soon as she gets to her apartment, she cleans up her apartment before she even starts eating. She organizes her sketchbooks back into a neat pile and gets rid of all crumpled pieces of paper. She also cleans up fabrics that she has left over from a few projects. Thankfully, not all of which were disasters.

The dress she wore to that art gallery was one of those projects that turned out perfectly. Now that she thinks about it, she really liked the way Steve looked at her when she wore that jaguar-print cocktail dress. It has made her feel quite beautiful in ways she never knew. 

No offense to his blindness, but sometimes she longed for Matt to literally see her. He is still one of the best men she knows and he did make her feel beautiful also. Not all beauty is in physical appearances. Steve is very handsome and so far he seems to be a decent man, but still things could turn out for the worst. 

She hears a knock on her door just as she finishes cleaning up her apartment. She touches her food. It’s gotten a little cold. She sets it in the microwave for thirty seconds. Then she goes to answer her door. As expected, she sees Wanda. She also has the puppy, Dodger with her. Dodger jumps up on Natasha and she strokes him behind the ears.

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought him,” says Wanda. “He’s a clingy little puppy. You know, he whines and cries when Steve or I leave the penthouse.”

Natasha laughs at the little puppy. “Desperate for companionship, huh?” she asks the happy little puppy as he wags his fluffy tail. She looks back up at Wanda. “Oh, please come in,” she says, stepping aside. 

Wanda steps inside. Or, rather Dodger _pulls_ her inside. Natasha watches as the puppy sniffs around, exploring. Wanda looks around. 

“You’ve got yourself a nice place,” she says.

Natasha smiles as she closes the door and applies the latch lock. “It’s nothing compared to your apartment,” she says. 

Wanda scoffs. “You mean the large penthouse I share with my brother?” she asks as she takes off her jacket. Underneath, she’s wearing a crimson silk blouse. “Believe it or not, for the longest time, my brother and I shared a one-bedroom apartment. It was all we could afford. I would sleep in the bedroom and Steve would sleep in the living room on the futon and every month we’d swap. Sometimes I miss that apartment. There were some good memories from that time.”

Natasha listens to her little story. Then she remembers her food. She gets out her food from the microwave and dishes it out onto a plate. “Again, I’m sorry I don’t have enough here to share.”

“That’s okay,” Wanda assures. “I can eat later.” She walks into the living room. “Ah, you sew,” she says, looking at Natasha’s sewing machine.

“I had to have made that dress I wore to the art gallery some way,” Natasha says as she starts eating.

Wanda turns towards Natasha. “I have to ask, do you design clothes?”

There is no point in lying. “I do,” she replies.

Wanda chuckles as she sits down on the couch. “Wow, that is so cool!” she exclaims. “Do you mind if I look through this?” she asks, pointing to the sketchbook that she had left on the couch.

Natasha swallows a large mouthful of lamb and rice. “Could you not?” she pleads, her voice a little hoarse from unintendedly large swallow.

Wanda pulls her hand back from the sketchbook so suddenly that it might have been a hot pan. “I’m sorry, are they unfinished?” she asks.

“No, I just…” she is too embarrassed. “I’ve never been comfortable with showing my designs to other people,” she explains. They are like a diary to her. Even Steve never got around to asking her about the design that he saw. In fact, she spent so much time asking him about him that, now that she thinks about it, she never told him about herself. On some level, she is grateful for that. 

Wanda smirks. “You know, now that I think of it, several days ago, before the art gallery, Steve was telling me about a sketch of a dress that he saw in your portfolio. Is that what you design—dresses? If the dress you wore to the art gallery is any indication, you are really talented.”

“One success in a series of disasters,” Natasha dismisses. 

Wanda throws her head back and laughs. “You sound just like my brother whenever I compliment one of his paintings,” she says. “But you didn’t answer my question. Are dresses all that you design?”

Natasha takes a long sip of water. “Well, no actually,” she replies. “I’ve designed a few handbags, some tops, and a few jackets,” she explains. “But I was only recently promoted from intern status. Sure I have lots of designs, but I haven’t had a chance to actually make many of them. Also, for right now, what does get made depends on whether my boss approves them.”

“And who is your boss?” asks Wanda, leaning forward towards Natasha.

“Pepper Potts,” Natasha replies simply. 

Wanda narrows her eyes. “Pepper, as in Salt & Pepper?”

“As in Salt & Pepper,” Natasha confirms.

Wanda lets out a short laugh. “I _love_ shopping at Salt & Pepper. Even Steve had a jacket from their men’s line.”

“Is it strange that I _don’t_ like shopping at Salt & Pepper?” she asks. “I mean, I work for them, but I don’t like to wear it.”

Wanda shrugs as Dodger hops onto the couch and sits next to her. She strokes him behind the ears. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” she says. “Where do you like to shop?”

Natasha laughs in spite of herself as she finishes her meal. She puts her food packaging in the trash and then puts her fork in the dishwasher. “I actually don’t do a lot of shopping,” she confesses. “Only recently has it become within my budget to do any shopping and now I don’t know where to start. When I do shop, I’m not particularly picky about boutiques. I usually end up at a department store instead.”

Wanda gives her a thoughtful look. “Sometime I might have to take you shopping on Fifth Avenue if you’re not busy this week.”

Natasha looks away ruefully. “Sorry, but I _am_ busy this week,” she apologizes. “Pepper Potts, my boss, has given me an assignment. I have to have several designs made and ready for Fashion Week next month. I still have to buy materials.”

“Ooh, can I help you?” asks Wanda excitedly. 

Natasha gives her a sideways glance. “How would you help me?”

Wanda stammers a little and it reminds Natasha so much of Steve. She’s starting to associate awkwardness with the Rogers family. “I see you don’t have a mannequin to help with shaping a dress. I can model for you. I know that not all of your outfits can be made to fit just me, but I can still help you get started.”

“Do you know anything about modeling?” asks Natasha. “And why do I get the feeling your brother would not like the idea of you modeling?” 

Wanda rolls her eyes. “My brother can be very bossy, but he’s not the boss of me.”

Natasha walks around the breakfast bar and goes to sit down next to Wanda. “Well then, I guess we have a lot of work to do. But first, I’m in the mood for popcorn and a movie.”


	8. An Unexpected Partnership

“You’re a lot better at holding still than half the models I’ve ever worked with,” says Natasha as she fiddles with her measuring tape. Wanda had been modeling for her whenever she could throughout the past week, which turned out to be every evening except for Friday. Friday was Wanda’s date night with her brother. Natasha thinks it’s nice that Wanda and Steve try to have a date night once in a while. 

Although, she has been around Wanda long enough to notice she seems to like that man, Bucky Barnes. Well, Wanda calls him James, but Steve calls him Bucky. It’s probably a childhood nickname. Natasha hasn’t seen much of that man, Bucky. She knows that he is a lawyer. She can relate to being attracted to a lawyer. Although, she’s positive that isn’t why Wanda isn’t attracted to him. 

There were many things Natasha found attractive about Matt Murdock, the least of which was that he was a law student. She just loved the kind of man he was. And she still loves the kind of man he is. 

She would have to spend more time around Bucky Barnes to understand what kind of man he is. From what she has seen, he is a man with a sense of humor. He is also very comfortable around women, in stark contrast to Steve. Bucky can easily talk to women around him. He has even flirted with Natasha. 

Yet, when he is around Wanda he is quite the gentleman. Natasha saw Wanda and Bucky run into each other a couple of days ago. Wanda wanted to take Natasha out shopping after a few long hours of working on designs. Bucky just happened to be out as well. Wanda was carrying a bunch of bags and she tripped over a curb before Natasha could warn her to watch her step. She was caught before she hit the ground by none other than Bucky Barnes. 

What he was doing on Fifth Avenue, Natasha wasn’t sure. Nor would he say. Natasha did ask about Steve though. According to both Bucky and Wanda, there are days when Steve just disappears into his little zone. He might be painting or he might be out wandering about in search of inspiration, as Wanda puts it. He keeps a phone with him if there’s an emergency, but he otherwise prefers to be alone.

Natasha hadn’t seen him all week. Not that she’s in a hurry to see him, but she does enjoy his company. What was it about him? She may as well have been suffering a creative block until she met Steve. She doesn’t think any of what she had recently shown to Pepper was bad, but perhaps she needed a little motivation to do better. However, she still feels that Pepper didn’t like the designs simply because of the hourglass logo on all of them.

All of her designs feel incomplete without her hourglass, or personalized watermark. Pepper Potts isn’t a woman to take credit for other people’s work, but neither does she give significant praise for the people who present designs for her company. 

Steve Rogers is an artist who doesn’t have to answer to anyone. He’s also wealthy enough that he can sign on a commission for a piece of art and take as long as he needs. He is no one’s subordinate. People go to him if they want an amazing portrait or a piece of artwork. 

Natasha wonders what that must feel like. That’s not to say she isn’t grateful for her new elevated position. She has a higher salary, a nice new apartment, a very handsome upstairs neighbor, and she has more opportunity to actually create her designs. So she has plenty to feel grateful for. 

Still, what if she was her own boss? What if _she_ was the head of a multimillion-dollar fashion company? What if there were boutiques with her name, or at least the name she chose, on them? A part of her tells her that it’s just a pipe dream, or worse a fool’s errand.

“And…there,” she says, putting the last touch on the gown. “Take a look in the mirror.” 

Wanda turns around and inspects herself in the floor-length mirror. She gasps. Natasha had made a black cocktail dress with a ruffled halter bodice with matching straps that offered a nice view of her chest without squeezing her breasts together. Patterns of white thread weaved their way down from the straps to meet a lacy white belt which was tied together in the back in an ornate bow. Natasha also topped it off with a pair of lace-up high heels. 

“This is gorgeous!” exclaims Wanda, turning around to inspect her back.

“You’ve said that about every dress I’ve made you try on,” says Natasha. 

“Well that’s because every dress you’ve made me try on _is_ amazing,” Wanda counters. She steps off the stool. She takes another minute or two to admire her reflection. “Natasha your designs are going to be the best at Fashion Week.”

Natasha chuckles lightly. “Don’t get too excited,” she warns her. “I have some fierce competition.”

Wanda shakes her head with a groan. “You and my brother are both so self-critical. Don’t be such a downer!”

She doesn’t want to admit it, but Wanda’s confidence and enthusiasm have been very helpful all week, encouraging even. She’s not sure about her skill in constructive criticism, but even without it, she feels like her designs have been improving. It’s fair to say that Wanda’s consistent admiration for her designs have made it more enjoyable to come with new ideas and bring them to life. 

“Thanks for being so supportive,” she says finally. 

“Anytime,” says Wanda. “Will you help me out of this?” she asks.

Natasha walks over to her and proceeds to unfasten the dress, but then she hears a knock on her door. She frowns.

“Are you expecting someone?” asks Wanda. 

“No, I don’t think so,” replies Natasha, unsure. She steps away from Wanda and walks up to her door as she hears another knock. “Okay, okay, I’m coming!” she says loudly. She mutters in Russian, but her words are cut short as she answers the door and comes face to face with Steve. 

“Steve…” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “What are you…?” she stops midsentence and curses herself. 

Steve smiles patiently. “You forgot about our date, didn’t you?” he sums up. 

“Guilty as charged,” Natasha admits ruefully. “I’ve been so busy. Maybe next time, I promise.” She tries to close the door, but he blocks it. 

“Wait a minute, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he says confidently. He holds up his other hand. It looks like Chinese takeout. “I had a feeling that you might be super busy. I’m glad I was right; otherwise this takeout dinner would have been a waste of money. “So why don’t you invite me in and you can share this with me? Or we could just sit in the hallway and eat. I’m down for either option.”

Natasha shakes her head, unable to hide her smirk. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

“I can do this all day,” Steve challenges with a wiggle of his brow. 

“I’m sure you can,” Natasha replies. She reaches out and yanks him in by the shirt collar. “But I’m hungry.” She takes the food in and sets it down on the table while Steve takes a moment to take the place in. 

She feels slightly embarrassed by the mess, having been working on clothes all week, but a part of her also hopes that he finds some admiration in her livelihood. Now that she thinks of it, she hasn’t told him much about what she does for a living. 

He doesn’t say anything immediately. He starts looking around her small apartment. She remembers Wanda telling her about that single-bedroom apartment that she once shared with Steve. Maybe she’s reading him wrong, but Natasha thinks that she sees that same tinge of nostalgia in his eyes.

He then spots Wanda and he raises his eyebrows. “Wanda?” he asks with a short laugh.

Wanda laughs nervously. She looks down at herself. “Hey, brother,” she says. 

Steve doesn’t say anything as he slowly walks in a circle around Wanda. Natasha tenses up; preparing herself for any criticism she might endure. However, Steve’s face doesn’t look critical. She can’t read his expression. That just makes her more nervous. 

Finally Steve stops in front of Wanda. “You designed this dress?”

Natasha realizes he is speaking to her, even though he’s facing Wanda. She clears her throat. “Um, yes, I did.” 

Steve nods and looks at Wanda again. “It looks…” he chuckles. “It’s amazing, but it missing something?”

Natasha crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. “And are you a fashion expert as well as an artist?” she asks, unconvinced. 

Steve gives her a challenging smile. “No, ma’am,” he says. “But I do know how to work with my little sister’s hair better than anyone. And all due respect, this long sleek curtain of hair, though as beautiful as ever, so not go with the dress. Do you mind if I decorate her hair?”

Natasha isn’t sure what to think. She doesn’t want to feel like it’s a slight against her abilities. He hasn’t insulted her at all, she can tell, but she would like to think that she knows how to play around with hair. 

“He is actually very good at hair,” says Wanda, vouching for her brother. “At least he is with my hair, anyway.” 

Natasha shrugs, not entirely convinced. “Sure, knock yourself out,” she says. “Do you need anything?” 

Steve smacks his lips as he looks over Wanda’s hair again. “Well, if I had more time, I’d ask for a curling iron, but I just need a few hairpins and do you have a hair tie that matches this dress?” 

Natasha thinks she likes where he is going. “I can make one,” she says. She walks over and finds some of the leftover fabric from making the dress. She cuts off a strip and then hands it to Steve, along with some hairpins. 

She watches him as he takes a brush and carefully brushes Wanda’s hair. He’s a big strong man, but it looks like he is also very gentle. She worries that he might pull too hard and hurt Wanda, but Wanda looks very relaxed, confident even. 

Matt could never do Natasha’s hair. He was blind. But he had many other attractive and lovable talents. As she watches Steve work with his sister’s hair, she finds herself playing with a strand of her own hair. She silently scoffs at herself. Way to make herself feel like an awkward schoolgirl. Still, she wonders what it would be like to feel such gentle hands on her hair, and from a man such as him.

Not long later, Steve has Wanda’s hair pulled back in a tight rope. Natasha thought he would simply be putting her hair into a ponytail, but then he pulls it up into a half-up do. He puts her hair only halfway through the hair tie which he ties in a bow. He adds a small bit of hairspray that Natasha didn’t realize that she had out. 

Finally he steps back with a self-satisfied smile. “Okay, sis, take a look.” 

Wanda looks at herself in the mirror and she smiles approvingly. “I love it!” she exclaims, jumping onto Steve in a hug. “You better be there to decorate my hair at Fashion Week.”

Steve pushes her away gently. “Fashion Week?” he repeats. He looks at Natasha. “Is there something I should know?”

Natasha sighs. “I was hoping to share this over a dinner date, but you were bound to find out at some point. I am a fashion designer for Salt & Pepper and I have designs I will be presenting at Fashion Week. Your sister volunteered to help me in the form of modeling some of the dresses I’ve made. And she has been a major help, I might add.”

Steve nods slowly. “So, Wanda, you’re modeling?”

“If I thought I was going to be modeling for dirty lingerie or slutty, I would not have agreed to this, brother,” Wanda informs him dryly. “If Natasha is okay with letting you see her designs, she’s actually quite classy.”

Natasha tries to put on a smile as Steve’s eyes turn on her at that. “I’m sure I can show you a few things,” she says. “And it looks like I’m going to need your help with Wanda.” She does have to admit that Wanda’s hair looks very beautiful. Natasha wouldn’t have thought to put her hair up like that. Perhaps Steve does know what hair goes best with whatever his sister is wearing.

“I’ll tell you what,” says Steve. “You will choose what dresses work best with my sister and I will decide how best to decorate her hair to fit the outfit. Wanda usually asks me to help her decide what to wear for certain occasions, but I think she could use another woman’s opinion.” 

Natasha looks at Wanda, who seems to like the sound of that arrangement. In the back of her mind, she also sees an opportunity to ask him to paint her portrait someday. She wonders when that someday will be. It's an opportunity for another time. For now, she just walks up to Steve and holds out her hand. Steve grasps it. “You got yourself a deal,” she says, shaking it. “But right now, I’m hungry.” 


End file.
